The Dim Continent: Series Finale (The Legend of the Gamesmen Book 3)

by Jo Sparkes

  And being desert-born, she’d never learned to swim.

  Kirth reached the verdant mass and disappeared. Marra trotted forward - to spy a narrow opening in the green curtain. Two sticks jutted through the vines, holding them apart. Marra hesitated only a blink of the sun before passing through.

  It was dark within.

  “Patience, Marra. You will soon see,” Kirth said beside her.

  Marra squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten. When she opened them the shadows had retreated, revealing the earth rising steeply before her.

  Kirth took a single step towards it and when Marra followed, the elder hurried on.

  As they climbed, the light grew to mid-morning brightness though the slope remained steep. It was as a tunnel, not through dirt but through thick vegetation, and Marra could have gathered many plant samples merely by reaching out.

  When a vine-colored rope appeared through the growth, Kirth used it as a handrail.

  Overhead leaves thinned and then vanished. When Marra glanced over her shoulder, she saw the sea far below. It startled her how high they’d climbed.

  Stairs appeared, flattened stone set in dark dirt with a peaty smell. Nutrients, Marra realized. The earth here was full of nutrients, much more than the Great Continent. That’s why the plants grew so profusely.

  Ahead, the elder dropped her hold on the rail as her stride changed. They had reached the summit.

  Kirth passed through an arch into the sun. Marra followed.

  They stood in a garden so carefully tended it could almost rival those of Tryst’s Palace. Almost. Green carpet, trimmed low, walled by hedges, and a center burst of scarlet flowers in three circles. But the scent differed - more powerful, more peaty, and ladened with spice.

  Marra stooped to touch the grass - and found it was not grass at all, but a moss that grew thicker and taller than any she’d seen. It clung to a mixture of earth and tiny stone.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “Bray dust,” a deep voice answered. She looked up to see a deep green robe - silky and fine - flowing round Terrin feet.

  For a wild instant, she thought the creature from the Palace had found them. But instead of grabbing her, this one touched fingers with Kirth.

  “Chance is kind to bring you to me once more, my friend,” the Terrin rumbled. Its fangs appeared longer than ever - and she guessed that it was smiling.

  “Marra, this is Tinge,” Kirth grinned fondly. And added, “Goodness child, stand up.”

  Marra did.

  Tinge held out her paw. Kirth gestured impatiently, and Marra brought herself to clasp it.

  When she did so, she noticed the silver dove pendent around its neck. Just like the one Leah had first shown her.

  “Bray dust,” the Terrin repeated. “It cleans the feet of dirt when you walk upon it. And augments any mixture - locking the potency in to last a very long time. You can tell its use by the thickening of the potion.”

  “Agben!” Marra gasped. “You are Agben!”

  Tinge’s fangs grew long again. The Terrin’s smile would take some getting used to.

  Marra never would have found Tinge’s house.

  The path was clear enough. But the dwelling seemed more outdoor gathering place than home. They followed a short trail out of the garden, round a giant tree with a base wider than Marra was tall, and trod upon three stones carefully set in a meandering brook to reach the dwelling.

  If dwelling it was. A large planked platform rose at the end of the path, shaded by a conical roof of tree branches tied together with green strands. Upright logs supported the roof, as the woven grass walls appeared incapable of doing so.

  And most of those walls were only half-height, rising to Tinge’s hip and Marra’s shoulder, which left huge gaps between their top edge and the roof. It allowed much light inside - along with anything else that might care to wander in. There were more than a few insects on the path and in the garden.

  The only inner wall sectioned off a small portion of the platform. The rest was laid bare to see - a sophisticated stove, benches tucked beneath a table ladened with food, and a second table crowded with glass vials and herb jars. On the far side squatted a gigantic bed and a scarlet rug surrounded by four large, white-cushioned chairs.

  “Are you hungry?” Tinge asked.

  Marra realized she was, having had no breakfast that morning. Cautiously she approached the table.

  Kirth, eying her in amusement, snatched a dainty confection topped with white foam, and bit.

  Tinge watched Marra expectantly.

  As the elder took a second bite, Marra selected a cake - so moist that bits of it stuck to her fingers - and sampled it gingerly. It was tangy with flakes of sweet meat, topped with a buttery cream. Delicious.

  “Coconut,” Tinge purred. “My personal favorite.”

  Tinge chose a similar morsel and gracefully moved to a chair. Marra watched, fascinated, as the creature lowered itself. Its legs seemed so thin and fragile beneath the body mass.

  Kirth followed, taking the seat beside it.

  “I am very pleased to see you, my dear friend,” Tinge rumbled. Marra stared at the green, upper jaw fangs that remained in full view during her speech. “But I did not expect to do so again. Where is our dear Rain?”

  Kirth gestured, and Marra hurried over to climb into one of the large seats.

  “That is a question I’d very much like answered,” Kirth replied. “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “At the appointed time, a year ago.” Tinge eyed Marra closely. “Is little Marra here her replacement?”

  Marra blinked.

  “We shall decide, soon enough. What can you tell me about Rain?”

  “She broke your dictates. But you know that.”

  Kirth inclined her head.

  “She studied, that one. Everything I would teach her. I held back certain things, but she learned more in the interior.”

  Kirth was quiet for several blinks of the sun. Marra saw the elder’s hand tremble before clasping the chair arm as if to calm her mind. “The interior?”

  This time Marra had no trouble seeing Tinge’s smile. “You thought that was one of our rules? Your mentor - no, her mentor - put that rule in place. We merely honored her and held our tongue.”

  “You didn’t hold it with Rain.”

  Tinge rose to full height before walking back to the table for more treats. “Rain probed with many questions. I merely answered. Marra,” the Terrin’s eyes twinkled, and she no longer seemed terrifying. “Would you like another cake?”

  Marra went to the table - to be sure the cake was still free of insects. And seeing that it was, she helped herself.

  Tinge observed her careful perusal. “You worry about gnats, perhaps? All of your species does - but there is no need. They are repelled at the wall.”

  “How far did Rain travel?” Kirth asked.

  “The first time she was gone maybe a handful of days. She went farther each time - perhaps two moons at the end.”

  “The Tower?”

  Tinge’s fangs tilted up and down. Nodding, Marra realized.

  “Most assuredly. I don’t know how many times in all.”

  Drail strode down the dock.

  Old Merle strode with him. Olver and Manten remained on the ship, sleeping off a large quantity of the barreled liquor the Captain had introduced them to the night before. And Tryst and Jason had headed in a different direction.

  Even from the wharf, Creesby seemed an odd place. And while part of Drail resented this trip - resented being ‘in service’ yet again to the Skullan prince - part of him enjoyed the wonder of new places. The journey across the Wavering Continent to Port Leet had been an adventure, with new sights for the eye and people waiting to be discovered. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it until now.

  The Great Continent was home to the Skullan race, with the Trumen making up less than a third of the population and considered inferior. Here in Creesby Trumen
dominated the harbor area overwhelmingly, yet there were Skullan about.

  And from what he could tell, these Skullan lacked that superior attitude. When Tryst and Jason had first disembarked as Skullan, sailors made way for them exactly as they did for Drail, or any man not unloading cargo. There had been no deference paid to their race. As Drail reached the dirt street, a Trumen male strode past with all the confidence of his Skullan counterparts.

  Creesby buildings were what he’d expected in Missea. Brick or wood walls, a sort of thatch in the roof. And while buildings rose two or even three levels high, no towering structures dwarfed the streets, no bridge-roads spanned high overhead. He would have thought it a large and prosperous city if he had never seen the Skullan capital.

  Damp heat rose on his skin. Being desert born the heat didn’t bother him, but air plump with water did. It would make comet that much more challenging.

  A tavern with a white-washed front and two boys polishing the stoop caught his eye. He would have kept walking, but Old Merle turned and mounted the steps. It would be expensive, Drail knew, which was why he would have instinctively passed it by.

  But expenses should not be a problem with the prince paying the bills. And Old Merle liked his comfort.

  “We have rooms to spare,” the barkeep beamed at them. “Four silver each for a night.”

  “Too high,” Drail told Old Merle. In truth Tryst would not count cost - but he felt uncomfortable letting the barkeep know that.

  Old Merle, sensing his thoughts, nodded and turned as if to leave.

  “I can do a bit better if you be taking several rooms,” the barkeep offered. “Or be taking several nights.”

  “How much better?”

  They found themselves with four front rooms, large and sporting harbor views. Surely luxurious enough even for a prince, though Drail suspected Jason could yet find fault.

  With accommodations secured, there was nothing to do but wait.

  It was dark when Tryst found Drail and his gamesmen dining in the tavern.

  His own task had been to find the gate - which proved easy - and discover how to pass through it - which proved difficult. Apparently while all of Creesby stood open and friendly, the rest of the continent was less welcoming.

  Manten and Olver sat downing ale, recovered enough from the previous night’s excesses to repeat the experience. Jason spun toward the bar, his hand yet again slipping up to touch his hair. The gesture was becoming a habit, one that would have to be broken quickly.

  Having not shaved their heads for the length of the ocean journey, and dutifully plied an Agben tonic, they both sported hair a full hand and a half’s length. While Tryst found it irksome, Jason profoundly hated it.

  In Missea he’d even produced wigs, in the hopes of keeping his own skull bare. Old Merle had guffawed long and loud while Drail shook his head. In the heat of a comet game, fake hair would be yanked free.

  A scuffing of wood on wood woke Tryst from his musing, as Jason shoved a mug and a bowl of stew across the table toward him. The stew had a creamy spice base, with a high ratio of plant to meat. Tryst shouldn’t have liked it - but he did.

  The ale, in an odd stein with handles on either side, somehow cooled a spicy tongue.

  “Well?” Old Merle prodded. Tryst realized that Drail had ceased asking questions, probably because they were never answered. He resolved to change that.

  “They will send a guide,” Tryst told them. “No later than two days.”

  Drail stirred. “Two days?”

  Jason grimaced. “Apparently we must wait upon their convenience. I tried to find a second guide place, but it seems there is just the one.”

  As the Defense Master spoke, Tryst watched a girl stride through the door. Tall and blond, her short hair was a mass of wild curls untamed and proud. A long cape of vibrant green swung about her slim figure as she paused to survey the faces. Too short for a Skullan, yet her bearing did not seem that of a Trumen. Flinging back her cloak with a practiced gesture, the girl showed a confidence rarely seen in a female.

  Then she locked eyes with Tryst - and approached.

  Manten grinned. “You, lass, may warm my lap.”

  The blond looked him up and down. “I think your lap needs cooling.” Turning to Tryst, she demanded, “Are you Jason?”

  Jason, seated beside him, frowned. “Have you news of our guide?”

  Whirling a nearby chair, the girl flung a leg over it in one smooth motion. She perched straddling the seat, and relaxed her arms along the backrest. “Good news. Your guide is here.”

  The others turned, scanning the room behind her. But Tryst had seen enough to guess the source of her arrogance. “You have guided others deep into the continent?”

  “There is a lot of continent behind the gate,” she told him. “I have seen more than most. I am Adeena.”

  “We do not want a woman,” Drail said.

  “Indeed you do,” she smiled.

  3.

  MARRA AWOKE to the sound of birdsong.

  Her eyes blinked open to see the undulating jungle just six paces from her nose. She shot up on her pallet and remembered where she was.

  The Terrin pallets Tinge had produced last night had indeed been more comfortable than she had imagined. Large and square, they consisted of similar stuffing to any mattress, except the surrounding ‘bag’ of cloth was missing. Somehow the herbal straw held together - and actually soothed rather than scratched the flesh. Marra had doubted that, despite Kirth’s assurances.

  It was the lack of finished walls that bothered her this morning. Traveling in the desert, she was used to sleeping out in the open, but the sparse landscape had never made her feel claustrophobic. Here thick vegetation crowded the space, smothering everything. The sheer vastness of the smells overwhelmed her.

  Easing to her feet to don her skirt and blouse, Marra tiptoed past the sleeping Kirth.

  On the other side of the jungle house, she found the door to the interior wall open and Tinge inside, busily working with vials and greenery. The Terrin’s fangs lengthened into her smile, and Marra approached.

  “Yute favors us with a pleasant morning, Marra,” the creature rumbled. “Fetch me one green dish from the garden, if you will. They’re set in the center of the flower circles.”

  Marra hurried to do her biding, only hesitating at the edge of the platform. She didn’t relish stepping through the greenery without her shoes - but those were beside her mattress, and she might wake Kirth.

  So she trotted out across the moss, and was delighted at the feel beneath her feet. The finest carpets lay in the Missea Palace, soft and thick and offering a tiny spring to the step, but this plant put the rugs to shame. It was like walking on a rare desert cloud.

  Spying a green dish among the first flowers, she stretched out to retrieve it. The dish contained a sea of floating dots that bobbed gently with her gait. Seeds, she thought, and marveled at this method of gathering them.

  She was still smiling when she handed the plate to Tinge. “How do you capture seeds in this manner?”

  “They are not seeds,” Tinge said as she poured the contents into a bubbling pot perched on the stove. Marra peered down, spying a few specks clinging to the dish edge. She leaned close as one of the specks moved.

  It was an insect.

  Jerking back, she stared at the Terrin. Tinge’s fur quivered as she emitted a strange purr that kept interrupting itself, as if her throat were opening and closing on the sound.

  Laughter.

  “Skin women choose their components from but one spectrum of the world,” she rumbled, stirring the pot with a forked stick. “We Terrin do not limit our choices to things with roots.” Even as she spoke, Tinge reached for a wide mouth jar of feathery leaves and plucked the cork lid from it.

  A powerful odor wafted through the air. “Kwitt,” Marra gasped.

  Tinge nodded. “How would you know Kwitt? Surely you’ve only seen it in a powdered form?”

  Drawing
closer, Marra nodded absently. The leaf was a single dark green stem with a hundred delicate threads attached, resembling a green feather. The threads looked fragile - and more potent than anything Marra had ever seen.

  Her finger lifted to touch it.

  “Have a care, little skin girl,” Tinge rumbled. “Lacking the protection of fur on your paws, it is not…wise.”

  Marra pulled her hand back reluctantly.

  She studied Tinge’s table, with the long oval dishes in bright blue colors. There were three of them, stained with a dry dark residue. They, too, smelled of Kwitt - and something more subtle. A sort of - dark earth, and vaguely unpleasant.

  Tinge continued her stirring.

  Looking around the hut area, Marra noted again the wide openings to the jungle breeze. Impulsively she climbed atop a stool, and saw the bare, flat top of the wall.

  She jumped down and darted outside, turning to study the house. Set in the wall, just beneath the opening, was a notched shelf - with a blue dish tucked inside. Marra sped around the platform, counting the notches. Twelve in all - and three were missing dishes.

  She returned to stare up at the Terrin. “A bug repellent?” she asked, pointing at the bubbling pot.

  Amused, the large creature purred again. “You lack fur but not wit, skin girl. Few living things would pass near such a brew.”

  “Kirth called Kwitt a mind relaxant. A powerful one.”

  “Relaxant? Interesting description. We call it a suppressant - tricks the mind into not thinking upon that which we wish to suppress.”

  “By the Desert Crane…you practice the third discipline,” Marra whispered, more to herself than the Terrin. But Tinge chuckled all the same.

  “We practice the art of crafting powders and potions to achieve goals,” she declared. “Skin people fear the power unleashed, yet admit the value of the results. Thus they divide the art into disciplines, and cut an entire branch out of existence.”

  “But why?”

  “Because that branch demands harm to living beings,” Kirth spoke from behind. Marra whirled, to find the elder Skullan watching her sadly. “Because the results never justify the cost.”