Jasper blinked. "Huh? My father's heritage?"

She waved her hands impatiently. "Yeah, you know you weren’t born to a virgin, right?”

His red cheeks hid his embarrassment. “Of course not,” he snapped. “But my father was a Seraph. Why would that cause any problems…” Jasper’s words trailed off as he realized what he was saying probably wasn’t right.

True, he had originally thought Abdiel was his father, but given the timeline, he knew now it was impossible. Abdiel was perhaps his older brother’s father, but he wasn’t his. And though the Seraphs seemed to have some sort of strange connection to him, he didn’t actually know if he was related to them by blood. The memory of his painful bond with the gis̆atu tree floated back to him - and his uncle’s suggestion that he was only half-Djinn.

Jasper paused a moment to collect his thoughts. Discovering his mother was not quite who he’d thought she was had been an earth-shattering revolution, but he’d had an entire lifetime of not knowing who his father was. He knew he ought to be curious, but he almost didn’t care. He was used to it. Still, he felt compelled to ask. “Are you saying you can tell me about him?”

“Nope!” She responded promptly. “Other than that grey mist, whatever it was, is probably something you inherited from him.” She paused a moment, screwing up her face in thought. “Actually, I can hazard a guess as to what it was, at least. The class Kas̆dael gave you - watchman or something like that - comes with both fire and spectral spells, right?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed.

“Classes can give you access to spells you don’t share a natural affinity for, but after seeing that mist, I’m guessing Kas̆dael was simply capitalizing on your natural talents. I don’t have a clue what race your father came from, but I’m guessing he had a talent for spectral spells.”

“Ahem,” a rather loud and entirely unnatural cough interrupted their conversation. Confused, Jasper glanced over at the interloper.

“What?”

“Perhaps we can discuss the past at another time,” Annatta said, more quietly. “Are you forgetting the reason we’re here? Each day that passes, the chances the scouts will be killed only grows.”

Feeling like a chastened toddler, Jasper suppressed the rather petulant response that rose to the tip of his tongue and settled for a brisk nod. “Very well,” he agreed. “My uncle is counting on us.” He turned his gaze promptly back to Tsia, and a smile small played along the corners of his lips. “So tell me, judging from the very angry father I had to fight, I’m guessing your meeting with the brothel owner didn’t exactly go smoothly. Were you able to learn anything about our missing troops before killing him?”

Tsia puffed up her chest indignantly. “Kill him? I didn’t kill him,” she protested.

He arched an eyebrow. “So the guards were after us because you and he had such a nice chat over tea that he just couldn’t live without getting your phone number?”

“No-o,” she admitted. “But I didn’t kill him. Sure he’s short a limb or two at the moment, but it’s nothing a healer can’t grow back. Eventually.”

Nēs̆u butted in, offering her a supportive nod. “Actually, for her, she was surprisingly restrained. Clearly, that scum called the guard after we left, but we did leave him alive - and, we got what we needed.”

“According to the brothel owner, the scouts had visited the place a few days before.” The warrior grinned wryly. “You know how it goes - a group of all men wanting to blow off a little steam before heading back into the wilderness. Apparently, one of the scouts stumbled upon one of the prostitutes being beaten up by a few Djiin, men who serve a local chieftain who goes by the name of Leḫmalpu.” Nēs̆u frowned. “I’m not sure what happened next. You would think one of the royal scouts would have been able to hold his own but, evidently, he got beaten up pretty badly and the rest of his crew got arrested in the resulting scuffle. Money was exchanged, bribes were paid, and Leḫmalpu’s men absconded with our scouts.”

“Where did they go?” Jasper asked.

The man shook his head. “The Djinn was a little hazy on the details, but apparently, this Leḫmalpu rules over a small city on the far side of the mountain, right at the edge of the true wilderness.” The warrior hesitated a moment, and a grimace passed over his lips before he continued. “They call the place Zēl-Qabūri. May Vāya grant that the name isn’t an omen.”

Jasper frowned, trying to parse out the meaning of the name. Zēl-Qabūri. “I don’t recognize the words,” he was finally forced to admit.

Nēs̆u snorted. “I’d be surprised if you would. You’ve only been around northerners and Djinn, but the name is pretty clear in a dialect similar to what I grew up hearing in Sicya. It’s probably not exactly the same, but if I don’t miss my guess, the meaning of the name is something along the lines of ‘the corpse’s shadow.’ Let us hope the soldiers’ corpses are not waiting to greet us.”

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“Of course,” Jasper sighed. “Of course, it’s something ghastly. What else could I expect? Even if I managed to stumble across a village named Butterfly Crossing, it would probably turn out to be filled with monstrous Monarchs the size of houses, whose every wingbeat summoned a hurricane.”

He started to laugh, a bitter laugh filled with more frustration than mirth, but when he settled down, he had to admit he felt a little bitter. “So, what’s the plan?”

The village, though on the far side of the mountain, would take no more than a day or two to reach, but Nēs̆u and Tsia had been able to gather very little information about what to expect. Unfortunately for the group, Dūrilī had always been more interested in indulging the lusts of the flesh than traveling the country, and he had never visited this Zēl-Qabūri.

But the day passed quickly, the wheel of time turning to the next, and, refreshed, the five set off. It was a more cautious trip than before. After a bit of scouting, they were able to find the main road again, both the road that had led to Dūr-Ekal and the network of winding paths that connected the great fortress to the web of smaller settlements that surrounded it, but they steered clear of the path.

Nēs̆u doubted that the city would have sent more guards in pursuit, but it wasn’t worth risking another battle, nor did they wish to give the guards of Zēl-Qabūri notice of their arrival. Thus, as they picked their way through the heavily forested slopes that guarded the roads, their progress was slower than Jasper would have preferred. Still, by nightfall, the first signs of their destination came into view.

The settlement was larger than he’d expected. Sitting at the base of the mountain, part of the village was set into a small hollow that was surrounded on all sides by steep cliffs, but the homes had long since expanded past those narrow confines, spilling out on all sides like a bag of burst jellybeans. It was a motley mix of homes, arrayed with no real sign of order or intent, but there were indications that the settlement had, at one point in the past, been built by a much more intentional hand.

The chief of those was what Jasper could only assume was also the source of the name - Zēl-Qabūri.

Lofted high above the original hollow, held in place by thick chains, was a truly enormous Dorēsah. He had no idea how the colossal corpse had been preserved so perfectly, but it looked as if it was merely asleep, its body showing no signs at all of decomposition.

The bird was different from those he had fought. Its size dwarfed both the Patriarch and the Matriarch, and its coloring resembled more the vibrant plumage of the baby birds than the ugly maws of the adults. Bright feathers coated its enormous wings and the whole city was covered by its shade. As long as one didn’t dwell on the fact that it was a corpse, it was actually rather lovely.

They stopped for the night well beyond the boundaries of the village, trekking deep into the heart of the forests. They lit no campfire that night, just in case the guards might see the fire and come to investigate, although, frankly, Jasper thought that was a bit of overkill. It wasn’t like they were in forbidden territory after all, even if they were in semi-hostile territory. But he listened to Nēs̆u’s insistence, deciding it was better to be safe than sorry.

All they needed now was some intel on the village - and that was Annatta’s time to shine.

The moon’s light was barely visible when she finally worked her way free of the tangled pines and aspens that covered the mountain slopes. Even though the village lay at the base of the mountain, they were far higher up the central valley of Harei Miqlat, and the Djinn’s breath rose in steady puffs of vapor in the cool night air as she surveyed the village.

Their vigilance, it seemed, had been unnecessary. The security at Zēl-Qabūri was as shoddy as the many rundowns that spilled out of the hollow. A low rampart encircled most of the homes, but the wall had broken down in a number of places, covered in thick vines that made her entry a piece of cake, and there were no signs of any guards left on watch.

She snuck in quietly, without meeting even a hint of resistance. The homes, despite their poor condition, were certainly in use. The silent vigil of the night was interrupted by the steady rumble of snoring that drifted through many of the open windows, and she nearly ran headlong into a few drunken villagers who were wandering back to their homes from deeper inside the hollow. There must be a tavern.

Still, Annatta faced no real challenges until she reached the hollow. The village occupied a strange quirk of landscape. Unlike a normal ravine, the hollow was nearly circular in shape, a naturally-formed bowl that offered a good deal of protection. The cliffs had been supplemented by ramparts much better crafted than those in the external wall that combined together to provide a decidedly formidable defense - and this time there were guards. Damn it.

Pausing in a shadowed alley, she studied their movements for a few minutes, breathing a sigh of relief after a bit. The guards were lazy. Rather than staying at their assigned positions, they merely visited them for a few moments before returning to the closest tower where - if the sounds that drifted out of the loopholes in the wall were any indication - they were indulged in a rather boisterous game of dice.

Waiting out their next lackluster patrol, she scaled the wall deftly and dropped down into the true heart of Zēl Qabūri. All she needed to do now was locate where the soldiers were being kept.

That proved a more difficult task than she’d expected.

The house of the village chieftain was immediately obvious. One of the very few houses in the settlement that was taller than one story, it stood above the others like a man amongst hobbits. The construction was surprisingly elaborate, with a brightly painted mural on its facade that suggested the settlement had had a more prosperous past than present. It depicted a scene of a small group of Djinn slaying a terrifying Dorēsah, which she strongly suspected was the founding myth of the village. But as Anatta snooped around the outskirts of the building, she could find no sign of a dungeon.

The village temple was her next stop. If the chieftain wasn’t the one holding the power in the village, than surely it had to be the priests. The temple, too, pointed to better days for the town. A stately colonnade of pillars surrounded a larger-than-life statue of the goddess Ummaddamah. Crafted from black granite, the statue was bedecked with a well-maintained tunic and a crown of fresh-cut woven flowers. Her hands were raised in a position of benediction, and if it had not been for the human skull placed beneath her right foot, the statue would not have looked out of place in the capital. Barbarians.

But her search of the temple proved just as fruitless as before. Hauling herself up onto the roof of the temple to get a better look, her eyes scanned the village, looking for any sign of the dungeon. What the hell am I missing? But nothing stood out to her. With a sigh, she dropped back down and headed further into the village. She was running out of ideas.