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A Chronicle of Lies - Chapter 21
🕑 Added 2024-04-20 13:15:46 +0000 UTCSlade groaned as she woke back up. Without saying anything, she dug through the bags on Holan’s flanks until she found a canteen. She seemed to drink from it for a full minute before stopping.
“Are they dead?” she croaked.
He looked up at her, then back at the Devourer, shook his head and began to chuckle. At first, it was a slow sniggering, but then it became like the distant shrill whistle of tires screeching against pavement.
“Y-yeah...I think they're dead,” he said, looking at the massacred mass of teeth. “Every bone...” he breathed, “I feel like somebody just...somebody just steamrolled my entire body. I–” He burst into another abrupt bout of laughter before he could finish his sentence. He didn’t know what he found so funny or why. Perhaps it was the Falian equivalent of endorphins rushing to meet his pain, making him euphoric, perhaps he had simply snapped. Whatever it was, he couldn’t speak and his efforts to speak only made him laugh harder. “That was fun, let’s never do it again.”
Slade groaned and he looked up at her. He noticed one of her wings had been bent at an odd angle. Without saying anything, she took the front of it in her hand, trapped it between her palm and Holan’s back, and jerked her shoulders upward. There was a sickening crack and a flash of agony on her face as the wing popped back into place. She turned it in slow, deliberate gyrations before taking another swill of water.
“We must go,” she said.
“I am definitely going to feel this in the morning,” Vincent said as he climbed up Holan’s back.
Holan sauntered off to the end of the thread, coming up upon the crawler hive before Slade brought her to a stop. The only reason they were forced to fight the maloger was because of this: the hive built part of their nest over the exit.
“So, why did we fight that damn thing,” Vincent fought off another bout of laughter, “if we were blocked anyway?”
“Their hives are fragile,” Slade said. Weariness made her voice raspy, yet she spoke with the same amount of graceful confidence. “But not fragile enough to be destroyed quickly. In the time it would take us to focus on its destruction, we would have become the maloger’s food. Therefore, our passage necessitated our confrontation.”
A few crawlers remained, but without the majority of their hive, they seemed less aggressive, less confident. They lifted their front legs, no doubt being able to feel Holan’s vibrations through the thick cords that laced the ground. But they did not give chase. Slade brought her mount to the top of the thread, causing the world to orbit around them until the sky took its proper place above them.
She brought the beast to a stop and ordered Vincent to dismount, which he did, though his muscles protested. Then she approached the towers of mud and clay that the crawlers excreted over the entrance. At her command, Holan reared up and brought her massive legs down upon them with a crack. Columns broke away and fell to the ground. The landrider continued to pound away at the dirt without further instruction from her owner, leaving Vincent with the suspicion that Holan had done this kind of thing plenty of times before.
She kicked out massive chunks of dirt and pearly white egg sacs. A few crawlers fled the scene. Vincent took one last glance at the thread, watching the rising plume of steam wrapping around its circumference.
“I am pretty sure you killed the hell out of that thing too,” he said.
“Doubtful,” was her response, “a maloger is difficult to kill. What you see is only one part of its body. It will take time, but the Devourer will recover. It will be forced to convert its mass and stomachs into tissue for its new tongues. Some of its mouths may atrophy and be reclaimed for this purpose, but it will live on. How did you manipulate the shryken to do that?”
“I don't know...but, that weapon of yours is terrifying.” Vincent glanced at the black handle which now hung bladeless from her belt, “I would ask you how it works or how you’re still alive standing so close to something so hot, but I think I’m about to crash.”
“Crash?” she repeated.
“Yeah, crash.” he said, beginning to feel the price of the massive battering he received back on the thread.
“I know the word, but I am not familiar with your usage of it.”
“Look, I just got the living crap beat out of me,” he said, “the only reason I was able to control your mount was because I was fueled by adrenaline. But now I’m burnt out. I’ve used up a lot of energy, I’m probably close to dehydrated, and I’m going to crash. Faint. Pass out.”
She turned around and thrust the canteen into his hands. “Drink,” she said, “drink until it is empty. There is a spring not far down this path. We will break there for a short time, give you an opportunity to recover.”
He nodded silently, uncapped the canteen and drank. As if his words had summoned some sort of prophecy, he could feel lethargy sink upon him like a pall. Holan’s motions seemed to lull him into a desire to just keel over and pass the fuck out. The euphoria was dissolving, leaving him trembling and suddenly hungry like he had never been before. It was so tempting to shut his eyes and just fall to the ground. But he resisted. He had questions to ask and wanted answers. So, he forced himself to stay awake.
Eventually, they came upon a small stream that babbled from a hole in the face of the rock before dropping into a basin somebody had carved from stone. The overflow poured out a tap in the side of the basin and flowed across the path before running parallel and disappearing into the rocks. Holan walked right up to the basin and began to take huge laps from the bowl, her massive mouth causing waves to splash over the rim. Several alien amphibians scattered at her thirst-quenching.
While Slade refilled the canteen, Vincent lowered himself from Holan, walked up, and splashed his face. Its cold touch bit through his weariness and sent huge tremors throughout his figure. But it refreshed him, shocked him back into wakefulness even if it was temporary. He brushed the green dregs of hair out of his eyes and took a seat on a bench, which had been artfully placed around the bowl.
“Eat,” Slade said, producing a strange loaf of berries and nuts. “The taste is not pleasant, but it will give you quick sustenance.”
He took it, gave it a sniff, and took a bite. “That is the most confused loaf of...'whatever' I’ve ever had,” he said between bites, wincing at the bizarre tastes that assaulted his senses.
He thought he detected nutmeg, carrots, peanuts, cantaloupe, and various other fruits and vegetables. The flavors, while not unpleasant by themselves, did not belong together. Holan continued to dive her maw into the basin, bits of crawler flesh fell off her neck and splashed into the water. Slade fished what she could out and threw it behind the rocks. Vincent waited until he sat down before he asked his first question.
“You said I wasn’t simply a prisoner,” he said, “what did you mean by that?”
She gave him an impassive look of consideration before answering. “You are immune to the Bane,” she said as if the answer sufficed.
“Yeah? You guys keep saying that. So what?” He swatted away a buzzing insect. “I get that to you people, that’s phenomenal. But what I don’t get...” He closed his eyes and shook his head as if he meant to throw the weariness he felt from his mind. “Look, I get that you think I killed some woman through this ‘reticulum’. You think I’m dangerous, your bosses think I’m dangerous. I have no idea who the hell they even are or what the reticulum is but that’s beside the point for now. But I’m getting the impression that there is something more going on here.”
He finished the loaf before continuing, “I’m your prisoner, but you stopped chaining me up. I’m not complaining by the way, just making note of it. It’s odd. By allowing me a certain amount of freedom, you seem to trust that I won’t try and pull something on you. But from a logical perspective, it doesn't make any sense. If we arrest somebody dangerous in our world, we cuff them, restrain them, and keep them locked up...” He got distracted by a ten-legged creature that leapt from one tree to another before disappearing from sight.
“Anyway,” he continued, “something made you change your mind and I’m finding it hard to believe it’s because I showed an immunity to the ‘Bane’. I mean come on...I assume your people get sick, maybe some people get deadly diseases. But some must have developed an immunity to them because that’s evolution. Or–” He looked up at her. “–have your people discovered evolution yet? Nevermind. Look, I just want to know what the hell is going on.”
Again, Slade seemed to consider his inquiries. Behind her eyes he thought he could detect a hint of calculation.
“I cannot give you all the answers,” she said, “I do not have that authority. But if you ask why I let you roam freely, it is as I have said this morning: I do not believe you to be a criminal.”
Okay, Vincent thought, why?
“As for your 'immunity' to the Bane,” she continued. “I find it incomprehensible that you do not see its significance. When I was sent for you, the circumstances of your malfeasance were not known. You demonstrated a power to cause harm through the reticulum, the ability to do strange things with false conduits, also without knowing how. You have in your possession the elusive Nectar of the Triasat bloom, which in many cultures, means one is destined for greatness.”
“Oh jeez...” Vincent muttered to himself. I really hope not.
“Furthermore–” Slade did not appear to hear him. “–You appear to be a charismatic.”
He looked up at her, “A charismatic?” he repeated, “What do you mean?”
“You have a charisma,” Slade repeated, as if the meaning of the word were obvious. “Your presence has...” She thought for a moment. “Potence? No...that is not the proper word. Power, perhaps? Your presence is compelling. It has gravity.”
“Have you seen me?” he scoffed, “I want to punch my reflection every time I see it.”
“Appearance has little to do with it,” Slade said, “if I were to cover you in a shroud, hide all of your features, your presence would still have gravity. Despite your frail stature, your overly large ears, and your unusual colors, your presence compels. That is how I know you are a charismatic.”
She seemed to speak of charisma as if it were a tangible substance rather than a trait. Vincent didn’t want to think about the implications, so he didn’t press for more information.
“There are other reasons which demand my urgency. I am prohibited from discussing them in detail, but the shandan and kiolai have been given secret dictations. It is because of the command they gave me that I feel compelled to treat you as more than a prisoner, to be moved to urgency because of the implications these ‘afflicted’, as you called them, represent, and because of that storm that eviscerated the landscape. Your exception to madness alone would warrant an escort to Meldohv, recent events only compound this need.”
“I regret asking,” Vincent groaned, “okay, so what are we doing tonight? Are we camping here?”
“No. As soon as Holan is done drinking, we will be on our way. We will stay at Teramin, which is not far from here.”
Vincent nodded and stared up at the red planet, now a crimson crescent, that lurked above the flaming clouds. When Holan was done, they hopped up onto her back and guided the beast down the path. Small lizards scuttled under rocks and up tree trunks. Darkened trees with curled limbs extended their arms over the path, shading it with round leaves that resembled lily-pads. Slade brushed a wing against one of them.
If Vincent had not been tired and battered, he probably would have flinched when the leaf shot forth like a Frisbee. Spinning, it flew up into the air before floating to the ground. Amusement spread across his features, and he reached out to brush one of them. More sprang up into the air at his touch, becoming spinning green circles. They bobbed around mischievously and collided with their cousins, causing chain reactions. Soon the air was filled with the dancing green disks. Despite his lethargy, he had the compulsion to run among them like a kid, limbs extended just to see how many he could launch.
The flames in the sky slowly took on an indigo hue as the sun sank into the horizon. The stars of Falius winked their way through the purple canopy, creating alien constellations. Everywhere he looked, he saw something new and strange. Perhaps it was his fatigue making him sentimental, but he could not deny that the world he found himself trapped in seemed to teem with visceral beauty. The crescent in the sky bathed the surroundings in a soft orange-red ambience. It was captivating, new, and different.
And fighting the maloger filled him with a terror which he had never experienced before. His nerves had been electrified and his mind had been forced to surpass its limitations, if just for a moment. He had been shocked into action, forced to think on his feet. When the adrenaline pulsed through his body, the terror was accompanied by a maniacal thrill, as though a beast had been awakened within him.
But he did not admit any of these. For one, he was too tired to do so and two, it reeked of schizophrenic delusion. He'd seen too many lunatics like himself go off the deep end because their malfunction convinced them they were superheroes. Many times, he had fallen for their lies himself and it had caused him, and those around him, nothing but strife. But as he tried to recall those memories, he failed.
Being reminded of his amnesia ruined the mood. Fear and uncertainty crept their way into his bones. Without his memories to bear witness to his identity, he had no defense against this place. The victory over the maloger seemed less like a victory and more like a snare. It was a colorful triumph, one he could brag about. It was another story he could tell, another tale he could add to his lunacy. The ache in his muscles seemed to contain hidden hostilities and secrets. And because he was sour and brooding, he thought of the afflicted kelta.
Vincent did not scare easily. Until he started taking medication regularly, waking nightmares were a common occurrence. His hallucinations had shown him horrors very few movies would dare to depict. He had grown numb to them, aloof to their grotesqueness, amused by their vulgarity. His fears were far more abstract than the surreal things shown to him during psychotic episodes. But those things unsettled him. He could still hear the screams of the lone kelta, flailing to escape the source of its agony, unable to do so because the source was its own body. It was as if something had been controlling it, keeping it alive simply because it wanted to torment the innocent creature and get off on its excruciation.
The creature that had stood upright on the interstice thread...it had bowed to him. Or had it? Holan had been sprinting too fast and he might have misunderstood what he was seeing. No, he sure was not mistaken, it had bowed to him as if paying homage. But why?
Slade brought Holan to a stop at an opening in the trees and stood overlooking a large mountain pass. In the distance, Vincent could see a gathering of small buildings. The flickering of fires could be seen through the windows of the blackened shapes. It was the first time he had seen a town in days, and it gave him a keen yearning for human civilization. But that illusion was shattered when winged shapes strolled across the roads of this town.
“Teramin,” Slade announced, pointing towards the village, “we will stay at the inn tonight and leave tomorrow morning. While we are staying there, we should clean ourselves in their hot springs.”
“Hot springs?” Vincent repeated.
“Yes, the inn is built around a hot spring.”
“There’s the proof that your continents don’t float...”
Slade turned to look at him with a question on her snout.
“Nevermind,” Vincent said. He didn’t feel like explaining geothermal activity to her. He was too tired for it.
As the path led them back into the trees, Slade’s light cast bobbing shadows among their trunks. The branches seemed to materialize from the growing darkness. Vincent found the effect rather enchanting and a little bit nostalgic. He remembered running through the woods holding a florescent lantern. The sway of the lantern made the shadows chase each other and caused the moths to scatter. The memory came to a stop as he slammed into another wall of amnesia.
The red planet lingered above the woods like a squinting eye, pouring its crimson gaze over the leaves and along the forest floor. When they exited the forest, they found themselves on a dirt road that led toward Teramin. Slade brought Holan to a gallop. The impacts shook Vincent's aching muscles and sent a chilling wind through his sweat-caked hair. A shiver crawled down his spine, causing him to yearn for the warmth of the landrider’s fur. Without warning, Slade brought Holan to a stop. Vincent swore.
Slade’s ears twitched, and she looked around the meadow. Her lime gaze scrutinized the features as though it sought conspiracies hiding between the blades of grass. Moving with a feline gingerness, she dismounted Holan and landed softly on the grass, crouching near the ground. She sniffed the air and spread her hands to her sides, allowing the blades of grass to tickle her palms. Then she dropped to her knees and parted the grass, pressing her ear against the dirt and closed her eyes. Her fingers kneaded the dirt as she scanned the ground, looking like she was listening for a pulse. Holan gave a short, concerned bray and dug at the ground with her massive feet.
“Shh...” Slade said, “I know Holan, but you should be used to my odd behavior.
“What is it?” Vincent asked.
“I do not know for sure. I lack the insight of a channeler. But my instincts have always been strong. A moment ago, I caught the hints of a foul smell.”
Vincent looked around at the night, “Do you think there are more of those things?” he asked.
“Perhaps...though the odor was different.” She pulled herself back onto Holan. “Perhaps a carcass lies nearby.”
Holan raced toward Teramin, following the winding dirt road. As they neared the village, Vincent suddenly felt the flux lines of a ward pulsing around him. Then he saw another rider depart from the village. As the figure left the light provided by the homes, it flashed an orb to life above its head and headed toward them. Slade slowed Holan down and waited for the newcomer’s approach.
Soon after, Vincent saw another rider approaching from the other side of the village, an identical orb floating above its head. When the first rider got close enough, Vincent saw scales as crimson as blood. He could tell by the relative roundness of its facial structure that it was a female. She pulled to a stop and quickly considered them both.
“A bounty hunter?” she asked, sounding surprised. Apparently, she was able to tell what Slade was from the attire she wore. The newcomer flashed a glance at Vincent. “And a channeler?”
“I greet you,” Slade said, “I am Kiolai Reashos. I am escorting an asset of interest, Vincent Cordell.”
Before the female could respond, the second newcomer caught up with them and brought his landrider to a halt. The light from his orb cast his wolfish features into harsh relief.
“Oh?” he grunted, immediately looking at Vincent. “A channeler? Perhaps you would provide some insight into these disturbances?” Then he turned to Slade and brought his wing to his chest as a sign of greeting. “Reashos, it is nice to see you again. I was curious as to what kind of fool would chance the Devourer. I should have known.”
“Barban,” the female said, “you know her?”
The one called Barban nodded. “This one has more spine than most of the men in town. Kiolai, I assume you left our local glutton alive?”
“Barban,” Slade nodded. Vincent thought he could detect the hint of a grin. “The Devourer will recover. Both my companion and I will need to rent rooms at The Hungry Maw tonight, but before that, I assume the wards we passed through are yours?”
“They are mine...actually,” the female said, “my name is Kialla. Barban’s wards are on the other side of Teramin. But they are both tethered to us, so we could both feel your approach.”
“Has Teramin been threatened?” Slade asked.
“Mice,” Barban grunted, “an infestation unlike anything I had ever seen before. They swarmed three of our landriders.”
“They are foul creatures,” Kialla said.
“What?” Vincent interjected. He felt two pairs of eyes on him. “Sorry...I just didn’t think you creatures would be afraid of mice.”
“Have you ever encountered a mouse, boy?” Barban chuffed while Kialla mouthed the word “creatures” to herself in confusion.
“Yeah. I used to raise them as food for my python.”
“Raise them as food?!” Kialla reeled with disbelief. “What kind of lunatic would raise mice as anything, much less food?”
“Vincent is tired,” Slade interjected before he could respond, “as such, he rambles.”
Barban looked at Vincent thoughtfully before continuing, “As vicious as mice are, I have never seen a swarm act as this. The relos make quick work of any hives that they find. Yet these vermin surpassed any swarm that I have seen. They turned three landriders to skeletons before we even knew we were being attacked.”
“Were there any casualties?” Slade asked.
Barban shook his head. “There could have been. But we were quick to act. One of the guards, a young man called Reese, saw the swarm this morning, ran back and alerted the town. We told all the townsfolk to hide in their homes and block the windows. All of the landriders were stowed in their stalls.”
“We waited until evening,” Kialla continued hesitantly, “we watched the swarm from a distance. When they navigated to their den, we followed. When we were certain the last of the mice were underground, we blocked the entrance and erected a thumper.”
What is a “thumper”? Vincent wondered.
“But as far as causalities go?” Barban said, “we lost three landriders, but no souls.”
Vincent could tell the Falian “mice” they spoke of were a whole different animal from the pointed rodents that infested barns and made women scream in terror.
“That is fortunate,” Slade said, “we ran into dangers of our own and I would like to speak to the Diac before I leave. But...we are tired.”
“And you smell like the jaws of death,” Barban mused, “there are bits of flesh hanging from your landrider. Listen, if you’re interested, there is a young man who is trying to make some extra money with his friends by bathing travelers’ mounts. Green face, yellow wings, the name’s Clyan. I don’t imagine you wish to travel on a beast smelling of rot.”
“I do not,” Slade agreed, “thank you.”
“You said this one is a captive?” Kialla nodded toward Vincent.
“I am bringing him to Meldohv. But he is no criminal. He will pose no danger to you.”
They spoke for a few more minutes, and then Barban and Kialla turned away and left them to resume their patrol. Slade waited until they were far enough away before she spoke. “If you wish, you may wander the inn when we arrive. But do not leave it. And do not make a scene.”
“You trust me now?” Vincent asked, half amused, “I mean you really trust me not to hurt anybody? I might fall asleep tonight and put the whole village in danger.”
“Do you think it is wise to test me?” Her voice, though it did not change pitch or volume, suddenly became dark.
“Bad joke, sorry,” Vincent admitted. “I just think it’s kind of strange that you aren’t keeping me on a leash.”
“I have many means by which I can subdue you. Do you wish to test them?”
Vincent almost threw up his hands. “I’m in a world filled with talking lizards. I believe anything you say.”
Slade briefly turned to give him a puzzled look, then she urged Holan forward toward Teramin. The wind carried on it the hints of smoke and fire, along with the scent of baked bread. The odors were both alien yet familiar, giving Vincent a craving for Earth. Briefly, he closed his eyes and wondered if when he opened them, the inhabitants in the street would be human, as if all he needed to do was wake himself up and dispel the dream. But when he opened them, he saw Falius remained as it was: existing as if in defiance to his will.
It was the first time he had been exposed to an entire community filled with the creatures. Dragons of all builds and complexions gawked at them as they passed through Teramin's arched entrance. The houses flanking them were built from rock and mortar, but their shapes had rounded edges, making them look organic as opposed to the square symmetry Vincent was used to. Their doors were high and steeped in order to accommodate the wings of the horned denizens that passed through them. Perhaps he could have appreciated the artistry in their presentation if he had not been an outsider, if the whole experience did not feel so surreal and alien. He felt their eyes scrutinizing them as they passed.
He clenched his teeth together and tried to find some mundane thing to focus on, so that he would not have to observe the madness of an inhuman populace. He tried to pretend that the voices he heard belonged to humans and not to creatures of myth. He tried to focus on the roughened surfaces of the Teramin architecture, the glistening facets of its stone. He tried to focus on the strange flowers that decorated the pots hanging in their windows. But this illusion was shattered when a small spotted snout poked itself out of one of the windows. When Holan passed it, he saw that the snout belonged to a Falian youth resting his mouth on the threshold. He stared in wonder as they passed by.
“Hey,” Vincent whispered, “you have my clothes, don’t you? There is a black jacket that I need.”
“Your clothes are in the second bag on Holan’s right flank.”
He searched through the bag until he found a wad of his clothes. He extracted his black hoodie and clutched the artifact from Earth in his hands, relishing the familiar feel of the warm, malleable fabric between his fingers. It had a vague stench of mold and sweat, and he could see vague hints of human blood against the black cotton. But he squeezed it as if he meant to pour all of his insanity into its threads. He focused his gaze on the bent zipper and the clogged teeth instead of the insane world around him. He needed the mundane garment. It was an anchor that grounded him against this madness.
Holan pulled over in front of a two-story building. A wooden sign hung over the entrance depicting the Teramin Devourer. Arching above its many maws like the interstice thread, were words written in their indecipherable language. The cacophony of conversation resonated from the rooms within, accompanied by an instrument which sounded like a flute. Kialla had just finished a conversation with an obese bearded Falian whom Vincent assumed to be the owner. His yellow eyes were set into a rotund face, their ridges were crested. He looked like a large, winged frog rather than a dragonoid figure. When he saw Slade, a grin spread across his face.
“Ah...Silith!” he croaked loudly, his voice wet with raspiness, as if it had been worn by years of shouting. “It is always good to see you! Well...always until now. You look as though you’ve torn through a swarm of crawlers.”
“Indeed...”
When she dismounted, Vincent followed suit, limping in her wake. He stood poised at the entrance of the inn, listening to the music and to the voices as if they were the murmurings of schizophrenia, seeing the winged shadows on the walls.
“This is Vincent Cordell,” she said, pointing to him. “He is with me.”
The innkeeper walked toward him, smiling with his hands extended, reaching for Vincent’s shoulders. Instinctively, Vincent backed away from him. He shot a glance at Slade as if asking “What the hell is he doing?!” A look of puzzlement spread over the innkeeper's face as though he did not understand the reaction.
“He is not familiar with our greeting,” she said.
“Ah...” the innkeeper rasped, “well, it is nice to meet you Gin, my name is Vincent! Welcome to Teramin!” He paused as if stupefied at his own confusion. “Forgive me, you’re Vincent and I’m Gin!”
Gin waited for a few moments, clearly expecting Vincent to laugh. But he did not. Instead, he continued to gawk at the toad-like innkeeper.
“He is a quiet one, isn’t he?” Gin observed, “well, come on in. Kialla said you will both be needing rooms.”
Vincent clenched his garment and followed behind Slade. He tried his best to ignore the fact that there were more bipedal dragons simply chilling in what he assumed was a pub. Twisted dried vines hung from the ceiling, clutching clumps of glowing crystal at their ends. A young green Falian with a feathery black mane and blue eyes resided behind a stone countertop. Behind him, a wall lined itself with several barrels. The youth was busy rolling a blue jewel back and forth on the surface in boredom. When he saw them both enter, he stopped rolling the jewel and stared.
In the corner of the room was another Falian playing an instrument, his cheeks were puffed out with inflation while his claws cupped holes along a recorder. Vincent immediately cringed at the sight. A dragon playing a woodwind was one of the stupidest things he had ever seen. He was tempted to walk over, snatch the instrument out of its hand and punch the creature in the face.
As Slade made the arrangements, Vincent gravitated toward the shadows where he could escape the gawking observers. Gin continued to talk to her as if she were an old friend. Every now and then, he would let loose a raspy laugh at something she had said. Vincent had an odd desire to simply dissolve into the stone wall at his back. His claws twiddled with the zipper on his jacket, flipping it back and forth like a metronome. Gin called over to the youth at the bar and introduced him as his son, Selic. Vincent gave a short nod, but he paid little attention to what was being said. His concentration remained on the jacket in his hands, upon the repetitive motion of flipping the zipper.
Eventually, Slade said his name. “Vincent Cordell, did you hear that?”
“No...sorry. What?”
“Selic will unlock the hot spring for you while our rooms are prepared,” she explained, “they will provide you a temporary set of garments while yours are washed. Go with him while I discuss our encounter with Kialla and Barban.”
“Right,” Vincent said, “see you in a bit I guess.”
He waited for Selic, who was fumbling through a set of drawers behind the bar until he produced a jingling key ring. Then he led Vincent down a narrow hallway illuminated by crystals suspended from the ceiling. He suspected they were similar to the kind of minerals Xalix used in his lanterns. But their harsh light was filtered through colored glass panes. Gin's son looked nervous to be in his company, as he fiddled with the keys and kept fidgeting with his wings, rubbing their tips against each other anxiously.
“So...” Selic said with the voice of a teenager. “You passed over the Devourer with Silith?”
“Yeah,” Vincent said, “it was fun.”
“Fun? You court the night carrier! Mad! Though it’s not the first time she has done it. But after the crawlers built their nest over the entrance...I thought...well, I heard Silith was one of the best fighters in Meldohv but even so, she seems to love tempting fate. I guess you both earned a drink. Though she never accepted our offer.”
“Your offer?” Vincent repeated.
“Father says anybody who makes it across the Devourer’s thread alive gets free drinks on him. Reashos never expressed an interest in redeeming this offer, but if you are not too tired after you clean up, perhaps you could stop by the bar? We don’t get too many channelers through here.”
A big, stupid grin crossed Vincent’s face. “Buddy...that is just what I need right now,” he said, “I’ll definitely take you up on that offer.”
