It is the third day of the expedition: Valafyr 3rd.
The rain continues at a steady pace, falling from a sky that one might assume has never been graced by the clear sight of Serana; the clouds are bulbous and clumped together, like a decrepit old quilt that should’ve been burned long ago. Some parts are a darker gray than others, heavy with sin and moisture, no doubt. The bloated, patchwork sky is static and unmoving, as if the bank of rainclouds have decided to merely sit atop the Heart of Vale bitterly, angry at the hubris of life in trying to come to this desolate place.
The previous night, the first of many nights camping outside in this weather, was made some better by the foresight of Kaz to bring several sleeping tents, which helped to keep the rain from falling directly on them, but only did so much to temper the issue of the rain that had already fallen. Even upon a nice, rocky outcropping that was thankfully free of mud, everyone’s cots were entirely soaked through by morning.
Thus, it has been two days of heavy trudging up the side of the slick, wet mountainside instead of taking the highland valley route below. Such a path would still be muddy, but infinitely less tiring and frustrating.
The real source of frustration, however, is the uncertainty behind why the group are taking this path: The sudden message from a stranger named Engel, sent through one of Addy’s technological trinkets in such a way that no other person should have the equipment or the know-how to perform.
Now, in the late evening before dusk takes what little light there is away, it is time to see if the mysterious tip is true, false, or just some hallucination by a sleep-addled Addy.
In truth, none of the outcomes are particularly encouraging.
“I’ll catch you if you fall, alright?” Demy tells Dahlia reassuringly while standing at the base of a tall, but still very much dead as everything else is, tree.
The Goblin nods and tucks Cashew’s spyglass into her robe. Using her little claws and talons, she begins scrabbling up the towering, skeletal tree. It has no leaves but plenty of branches, which Dahlia gets plenty of purchase on despite the slippery-smooth texture. Any other tree, she could just dig her claws into and scale directly upward, but the petrified wood of these forests are too hard for that.
Granted, if this were any other tree anywhere on Vale, she could just ask the tree to lift her up, due to it being alive. Not so, here in the ironically dead Heart of the world.
“Why did you let Dahlia climb the tree? It’s your spyglass, after all,” Kaz mutters, casting a wayward glance at Cashew.
He shrugs, currently taking refuge from the wind and rain by standing downwind of his larger companions. “She offered. Why should I climb some slippery, stupid, dead tree if I don’t have to?” he argues passively.
“I figured you’d jump at the chance to show how cool you can climb,” Wren muses, their fuzzy hood pulled up to help with the buffeting rain.
“Wow, okay. And here I thought the blatant racism from you toward me was over,” Cashew says, holding his arms out to each side to seem larger–and to adequately display the severity of the offense taken.
Wren, who has since become accustomed to the tiny man’s sudden vagaries, rolls their eyes and says, “My bad, I didn’t know that you were afraid to climb the tree or I wouldn’t have bothered you about it.”
Cashew stares at Wren, head tilted to the side, silently. After a terse few moments, he says, “Demy, I’m sorry but I’m about to fight your little enbycrush.”
“And get shit on!” Wren quickly adds back.
Kaz casually picks Cashew up by the back of the shirt with one hand and holds out her other hand at Wren, letting out a sigh. “No fighting on shit mountain please,” she says in exasperation.
Off to the side, Addy scratches at her arm habitually, looking unusually worried as she says, “I’m really sorry, please don’t fight.”
Cashew and Wren look over at her and slowly stop smacking at one another, slightly ashamed.
“It’s okay, Addy. We’re just goofing,” Wren says reassuringly.
“Yeah,” Cashew agrees, but whispers to Wren, “I’d have kicked that ass though.”
Wren nonchalantly gives him a rude gesture, hidden behind their back.
Addy looks at the ground, scratching her arm harder as she admits, “I really did hear her, though. I promise.”
Kaz steps over to her, still carrying Cashew with one hand. She places her other one on Addy’s shoulder gently and says, “We’re not mad, really.”
“Okay,” she says softly. “It’s just that the professor seemed upset that I didn’t wake everyone up while it was happening, but I’ve done that before and people got mad like he did this time! What should I have done?” She asks, looking up at Kaz with wide eyes that are damp from more than just rain.
Cashew, still held up by the scruff of his collar, surprises Kaz by reaching out and hugging Addy. He says, “You didn’t do anything wrong, fam. He just…” he trails off, eyes wandering over to Felix, who stands at the edge of the little mountainside encampment the group have set up, collecting rainwater with an air of frustrated indifference that nobles tend to wear like badges of honor, in Cashew’s experience.
Choosing his words carefully, Cashew finishes by saying, “He’s probably just upset that he didn’t get to talk to her, because of how cool it probably was.”
Addy hugs him back and sniffles a little. “You’re right. Because it was really cool!” she exclaims, a hint of her usual cheery self showing through.
Kaz gently sits him down and gives him an approving pat on the back. Two sides of the same nut, she thinks with some amusement.
Wren joins in on trying to lift Addy’s mood by asking, “You said that the person–Engel? You said they had a strange accent?”
“Yeah! They sounded feminine, but I’m not sure if they’re a girl or not. They had a really strange way of speaking that I’ve never heard before–”
Addy rambles on and Kaz tunes out, letting Wren and Cashew handle holding the door for the flood of information that spews forth from the Elf. Instead, she turns her attention toward Felix, watching him go about the fairly trivial task of refilling his canteen, knowing that it’s likely just busywork to keep him from interacting with the group.
He certainly was upset with Addy when she told them the next morning about the conversation; at first, Kaz thought it was just because he wanted to speak with Engel, much like Cashew said. But it wasn’t mere disappointed frustration, it was something else.
Anger, borne from fear.
It’s something Kaz knows well, having seen it plenty during the final years of the war. Soldiers sometimes deal with their fear and stress by channeling it into anger, since it is more active instead of the reactive instinct to cower or flee. It’s easier to feel in control, to feel productive, when you’re angry.
Yet, back then, it was the fear of death that made both those under her command the ranks of the enemy act in such a way. Here, now, Felix’s reaction seems out of place, considering that he is in charge of the expedition, that he has pushed so hard to make it happen.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
He’s afraid that we’re going to actually find something, she has realized. Maybe he’s not the one who truly wants to open this box of mysteries, which would make sense with the correspondence that Smalls found in his room.
Kaz’s ability to ponder this further is cut short by a sudden shout, which she realizes is coming from Dahlia, audible even over the sound of the thudding rain and crackle of thunder:
“Falling!” she shouts, plummeting from the top of the dead tree.
Demy, caught off guard, can only bark out an incomprehensible garble of curse words as he stumbles forward, arms held out–
And catches Dahlia easily as she plops neatly into his grasp.
He slides a little on the mud but catches himself before pitching off the side of the mountain, eyes wide and heart pounding. “Fu–tch–ghh! You okay?!” he manages to stammer out.
“Thank you, Wolf Friend Demy,” Dahlia says and reaches up a tiny green hand to pat his cheek.
“Be more careful please,” Demy mumbles weakly, carefully sitting her down before sitting down on a rock himself, legs shaking.
“I did not fear. I knew you would catch me when I jumped,” she says.
“Well, I–’Jump?’ Wait–” he sputters, but she turns to Kaz and continues talking.
“Friend Addy’s mystery voice speaks the truth. There is an entire herd of Failures in the lowland valley,” Dahlia explains. She thinks for a moment before saying, “Would a group of Failures be called a ‘herd?’”
“What about a ‘collective?’” Wren offers with a smirk.
“‘Collective of Failures,’ not bad,” Cashew admits, giving a tiny clap of approval.
“Would it be if they were the only such ‘collective’ within the region,” Felix mutters, finally rejoining the group. He catches a few side-eyes for the comment, but ignores them. “Did you get an accurate headcount of them, Dahlia?”
“At least two dozen, maybe a few more,” she says.
“Twenty-six is a good number!” Addy chirps.
Felix turns to face Addy and she shrinks back slightly, smile fading. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut in the face of an oncoming headache. Not that he’s not had a headache since first coming to this horrid continent.
“Seems that you did not hallucinate your conversation after all,” Felix says, letting his hand drop as he frowns at her.
For a second, Addy says nothing. But then she cautiously asks, “Are you mad at me, Professor?”
The rest of the group tense, each one uncertain how they might react if Felix gets out of line. But, to everyone’s relief, he furrows his brow a bit and shakes his head in response to her question.
“No, not at you, Professor Rhys. I am upset, but… no, you’ve not done anything wrong. You don’t deserve what ire I may have,” Felix admits softly. It is indeed true that he is frustrated–this entire situation is getting out of hand, if there are actually people still living in this land that can communicate using ancient technology.
Felix can only begin to think what such a thing might mean when Flint finds out.
Let alone the rest of Vale.
Memories of the Third Era, nearly two thousand years of constant war and misery between the nations of the world, are what is really bothering Felix. But that might not be the outcome at hand; at least, he has to hope that it isn’t the case.
Addy smiles a little in relief as Felix continues, “Do you think that the conversation could have been pre-recorded somehow? Like some form of triggered message?”
Given a topic to focus on, Addy’s worries fade away quickly as she ponders this possibility. “It’s hard to tell, because the Monteith could have had the technology to make recordings respond actively, instead of just repeating a message,” she admits.
“The Engel Stranger has never been heard of before?” Dahlia asks suddenly.
Addy blinks in surprise, curious as to where Dahlia is going with this train of thought. “Not that I’m aware of, and I would probably know,” she says.
“It is suspicious that the message came right after you checked your navigation tool,” Dahlia explains.
Addy’s eyes widen and she looks at Felix, saying, “Dahlia’s right. It could be responding to the fact that the device was tracking us approaching whatever it’s pointing to.”
“That still does not tell us if Engel is a real person or just a recording,” Felix remarks.
Kaz speaks up, her arms crossed. “Which would be worse?”
“That depends,” Felix says.
“On?” Kaz pushes.
The corner of Felix’s mouth twitches in agitation, but he elaborates anyway, “I can think of plenty of people that would like either option, like our Professor Rhys. Either outcome will be interesting.”
“And which one would you prefer?” Kaz asks, pushing even further.
Felix snorts derisively and says, “I don’t prefer either one.”
Cashew, who is already hard-pressed to trust Felix in any capacity, decides to push the point by interjecting with, “For someone who set up this expedition, you sure don’t seem happy to have found something.”
“You assume too much,” Felix says, narrowing his eyes at Cashew, then at the rest of the group. “I will admit that I have mixed opinions on the importance of what we might find, or more specifically, what will be done with what we find. I will also concede that it is imperative that, if there is something to find on this continent, that we be the ones to find it.”
“Is that what you and your brothers were arguing over?” Cashew asks, before Kaz can tell him to let the subject drop.
Felix raises his eyebrow, quickly working out the chain of events of how Cashew would know about the conversation. “Ah, then you are already aware that I disagree with my family on how we should handle the event of finding something of import,” Felix says.
Kaz puts a hand on Cashew’s shoulder and pulls him back a bit, before staring evenly at Felix. “We merely want to be sure that we are all on the same page, Lord Thorburn. What is your goal for all this?”
Felix stares back, irritated that he has been backed into a corner like this, especially this quickly. But he has to admit that what they are asking for is fair–they just want to be sure of what they are contributing to. And, ultimately, that is all Felix wants, too.
“My goal is to find out the truth of this place before someone else can get their hands on it and to make sure it doesn’t spiral us into another miserable era of killing one another,” he says sternly, decisively.
The others share several glances before Kaz, finally, nods in approval. “You seem to be honest about this. Is there anything else you’re keeping from us?”
Felix, flatly, says, “Not that you need to know about at this moment, no.”
Kaz frowns, but knows that this is, at least in Felix’s eyes, true. “Alright, but getting upset at Addy over her doing exactly what you brought her to do is not okay with us. Understand?”
The rest of the group nods in agreement. Addy blushes and looks at the ground, embarrassed at being the center of any kind of issue–but also happy that her friends are standing up for her.
Felix, to his credit, sighs and nods. “You speak the truth. I am bad to misplace my anger and, as I already said, she did not deserve to bear the brunt of it. I am sorry, Professor Rhys,” he apologizes, looking surprisingly tired and, for the first time, vulnerable.
“It’s okay, Professor Thorburn. I just want to find out what’s going on,” Addy says sheepishly.
“Then we are together on this,” he admits. “It is late, let us get some rest. Tomorrow we will make our way down this mountain and avoid those things, then move on toward our destination.”
The group, exhausted from the climb and the tension of confrontation, do not argue. Everyone retires to their cots and, thanks to a small cavern, spend the night relatively dry. This will be good for morale, and come morning, spirits will be higher than since the beginning of the trip, with everyone having a clearer, if not entirely transparent, understanding of one another.
Yet, with the morning comes another surprise.
Waiting for Addy when she checks the coordinates on the tracker as the group prepares to descend from the mountainside is another notification.
A new waypoint on their journey, left by Addy’s new friend, Engel.
Two days travel northward, it reads:
City Limits.