by Stone Thomas
“What does a girl have to do to get a punctual tour guide around here? That’s you, sir. You’re a tour guide.”
The man’s arms dropped to his side. His eyes flashed for a moment, Cindra’s signature green. “We’ll start by walking through Mournglory’s commercial district, which often boasts outdoor cafes in this lovely weather…”
As we followed after the man, Zid leaned close. “She could earn a pretty penny at the Body House.”
“She does the work of four women,” I said. “No one could afford what she’s worth.” Then, aiming my speech at the guard-guide, I said, “We’d like to see the prison farms.”
“That’s not part of any tour,” the guide said. “The prison farms are below the temple. The best I can do is bring you to the temple gate.” We walked toward the central trunk supporting the inner spokes of Mournglory’s boardwalk promenade. “Here we are, an entry gate to Hipna’s temple.”
Thin wooden slats spaced far apart formed a delicate barrier gate, blocking an archway through the outer bark of that central tree. Inside, the trunk was hollow, sporting a narrow walkway toward a platform that served as the temple’s sanctuary. Peering down, I could see movement at ground level but I couldn’t make out what was down there.
“Hipna?” I asked. “You mean Valona.”
The guide sighed for show. “A history buff. Always a pleasure to have one on a tour. They never make my job difficult! Yes, this was Valona’s temple, hundreds of years ago. She abandoned the temple shortly after the first god war, leaving it vacant for Mournglory’s patron goddess to take the reins. Hipna is the goddess of—”
“I know,” I said. In my zeal to reclaim the temple for Valona, I forgot that Greggin had already told me it belonged to Hipna. “Goddess of nocturnal remission.”
“Of memories resurfaced,” the guide said. “Among other things. It’s off limits at the moment. So, moving on.”
He stepped away from the wooden gate, but movement inside caught my eye. “Hello!” I yelled through the wooden slats. A small elf man with white hair framing his pale yellow face looked around as if he wasn’t sure I was talking to him. “You, elf man!”
He walked toward me, cautiously.
“Hello,” he said. “Am I needed?”
“That’s the saddest thing anyone’s ever asked me,” I said. “Of course you’re needed!”
“Where’s the mess then?” he asked.
“There’s no mess,” I said. “Oh, are you the temple custodian?”
“I am,” he replied.
“I bet they have you hunting down bats in your off time, am I right?”
“Ho ho, yes,” he said. “Those batty buggers just flock to temples now don’t they? I have a secret weapon though.” He leaned in close. “I use a wooden pole to bash the baddies on the head. It’s harder now though, with the pain in my shoulder. I’m not a younger man anymore.”
“A little training might help,” I said. “What say I skillmeister you and you let me into the temple.”
“That’s kind of you,” he said, “but I wouldn’t want to break any rules. And besides, the temple is closed until the wake is over.”
“Is the wake inside the temple?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, “the palace.”
His eyes drifted and went wide. I worried there was another zombie approaching, but it was just a fairyfly. A small, annoying, stalkery fairyfly with red-gold-green wings and oversized blue eyes.
“An escapee,” the old man said. “They say it’s luck to attract a fairyfly.”
“Luck?”
“Yes, the very worst kind. Good day.” And with that, he hurried away.
“Go away!” I yelled, waving my hand in the air to get the insectoid woman to buzz off. She tugged at my ear a few times, but eventually gave up and left. So annoying. Why was I the only one being pestered like this? Did I sweat babies’ blood or something?
I needed to get inside that temple. There had to be a way to get Valona a head priest and stop hell from spewing lumentors out every time I got into a fight. And where was this Hipna?
I jogged to catch up to our tour guide. While the city’s main walkway ran in a perfect circle, most of the city didn’t open onto it. Above us, houses and shops perched against the outer ring of trees with doors opening onto small platforms, or no platforms at all. They were small, likely impossible for me to walk around inside, and some were so high I’d never have the AP to Vault that far.
Every door in the city was closed though. We hadn’t seen any other guards, or pedestrians, or anyone besides the temple custodian. We approached a covered area where a large ornate building seemed to hover a story above the boardwalk path that ran around the city’s wide center.
“That is the palace,” our guide said.
“Who is this?” Cindra asked, stepping toward a statue of a man with shaggy hair, tousled as if in a strong wind. His arms were held overhead, clasping a sword.
“Ah, the vanishing swordsman,” the guide said. “In the thick of the first god war, this man retrieved one of the legendary dual swords crafted by ancient elven artisans. It was the sword of peace, long believed to be the weapon that would end the god war.
“He set out on that expedition of recovery, the lone human in an army of elves and beastkin. It was the only known coalition of the races during that time. He vanished shortly thereafter. The Great Mother ended the god war instead, and the sword has never been seen again. There are other statues of elves and beastkin warriors inside if you’d—”
“The face is wrong,” Cindra said. “His jaw was stronger, more angular. And he was taller.”
“Excuse me?” the guide asked. “Have you seen other representations of the vanishing swordsman?” Cindra looked confused, and tired for a moment. She lost her balance, then the guide’s face lit up with realization when Cindra’s broken concentration snapped apart the illusion she had constructed.
“You, you’re all sorts of illegal!” he yelled. He reached forward and flung the hood from Cindra’s head.
“Rabbit sounds,” Cindra said, stroking the fake rabbit ears that flopped from her head. “I’m making rabbit sounds, because I’m just a slime pet.”
“You’re a slime woman!”
I brought my Vile Lance out in front of me and stepped toward him. “We don’t want trouble.”
“Weapons!” his voice was at a high pitch now. He balled his yellow fists and let them glow bright blue. Zid still hid her sword, and Cindra’s bow dangled from one hand.
The guide lifted his fists, sending a crackling arc of blue magic between them, over his head, as he finished summoning—
We’d never know. A bone knife flew through the air and pierced his leather armor, sinking into his chest and killing him.
As the guide bled and collapsed to the ground, a rift split open before us. The wine-red skies of hell crackled with lightning behind the demigoddess Reyna.
“Arden!” she yelled, her face half hidden behind her long white hair. She was so close. I wanted to reach for her — carefully, respectfully this time — and pull her into this world where she could feel the sun’s rays against her soft gray skin. She longed for that, even as Cindra fought to avoid it.
A sphere of white light bulged and struggled in her hands.
“Use Hell Bent!” I said.
The next moment, her hands ignited in charcoal black flames. When she released the lumentor, it had a mark burnt onto its bubbled shell, three red lines in parallel.
“Reyna,” I said, swallowing hard. “Is it always th—”
“Behind you!” she yelled.
The glassy eyes of three undead elves bore through us. The three recently-slain elf guards lurched down the city’s main road.
“We’re in Mournglory,” I said. “Your mother’s temple is close.”
“Valona won’t last,” Reyna said, reaching up and grabbing a lumentor’s bubbled soul before it could pass through the rift. “She only has a day, maybe two before t
he rex fulmin destroys her. Each new rift takes power to close, power she’s losing quickly.”
“I need more time,” I said. I reached toward her. She took my hand for a moment then looked up in alarm.
Another bone dagger sailed through the air, but Zid caught it with her levitress skills. It hovered, immobilized and bathed in yellow light.
“Can you help us?” I asked Reyna.
“No,” she said. “Their souls are gone. I have no power over the body.” The rift sealed over, trapping the lumentor with Reyna in the underworld, the one place it couldn’t do any more damage.
I charged toward the undead. They’re not people now, I told myself. They’re weapons, and weapons aren’t allowed here.
One raised a palm, sending an unruly wad of black magic my way. It was like rotten spaghetti, hurtling through the air. I dodged, but I wasn’t the target. The dead elf guard behind me was. I spun around in time to watch the man’s crumpled body un-crumple, watch his lifeless form become a little less lifeless, and watch the knife buried in his chest become a lot more unburied. He tore it from his body and gripped it tight, tilting the blade toward me.
“And to think,” I said, stepping backward toward Zid and Cindra as we prepared to defend ourselves. “I was going to tip you.”
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Four necromanced elves. They moved slowly, but with determination and without regard for their own safety.
“I need time to charge this one up,” Zid said. “Distract them.”
While Zid’s hands filled with bright yellow energy, Cindra pulled out her bow and shot arrows at the nearest attacker. They all just sank into the guard’s armor and exposed flesh without taking him down. He was like a walking pincushion, except this pincushion had a knife and a look in his eyes that said, “let’s see how much you like getting poked with sharp things.”
I charged up my Piercing Blow and thrust my spear forward, stabbing a man’s shin. I hit bone, but he only shuffled backward, ignoring the thick red blood that oozed from his fresh wound.
“Those arrows were Heartstringers,” Cindra said. “It’s not working on them though.”
“Maybe you can’t commandeer a ship that’s already been pirated,” I said. “Save your AP. I’m not sure how much more of it you’ll regenerate back until we find Mercifer and get you patched up. Actually… Zid! Do you think any of these guards have keys to the prison farms?”
“No time to root around in their pockets,” she said, her eyes glowing with yellow power.
Cindra and I used our bodies and our weapons to block the oncoming attackers from Zid as best we could, but they circled us, slashing their bone-carved knives and forcing us to dodge and weave to avoid their blows. Some were close calls, and one almost sliced into Zid’s side.
“Forget it,” I said. I turned my back, looped an arm around Cindra’s waist, ruining her shot, and reached the other arm around Zid. Then I Vaulted forward, launching all three of us on a long arc away from our attackers.
Before we hit the ground, a lot happened.
Yellow magic erupted from Zid’s body, washing the seven of us in a warm glow that floated us all in place.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“Levitating,” Zid said.
“Why?” I asked.
“To give Cindra her chance,” she said.
Cindra spread her arms, swimming through the air until her body was in position. Then she shot arrows at the four undead elves while they scrambled uselessly against Zid’s levitation spell.
Each arrow lodged in an elf’s body, but the force of it pushed them further away from us. They drifted at increasing speed, bumping against the city’s outer wall. As they rose higher, they reached the portion of the wall where the trees’ trunks grew apart, tapering off as they extended higher into the sky.
Cindra shot until our attackers were well beyond the city, then Zid lowered us back to the ground. She lay there for a full minute, exhausted from the effort.
“That’s it for me,” she said. “That was all of my action points.”
Cindra stayed on the ground too, her body pressing into the wooden slats that formed the boardwalk path.
“I have to get into that prison,” I said. “Can we find a guard that isn’t undead and get me arrested? We’re running out of time.”
“You’re a head priest,” Zid said. “You know what you’d have to do to get arrested.”
“Remind me?” I asked.
“I thought you read the Free City Pact!” she said.
“Maybe I only skimmed it.”
“Murder,” she said. “Who are you going to kill just to get sent to the farms?”
“They don’t have to know I’m a head priest,” I said. “I’ll just—”
The sound of footsteps caught me by surprise, and I tucked my lance behind my back. Cindra and Zid got to their feet. A handful of yellow elf children ran down the boardwalk toward the palace, each with a glass bottle in their hands. No one chased them though.
“Come on,” Zid said. “If you want guards, you’ll find them at the wake.”
The children ahead of us ran under the palace building, then disappeared into a stairwell carved from the city’s outer wall. As we followed them at a distance, we passed more statues of warriors in battle dress and triumphant poses. They lined the central ring of the city’s promenade, coming closer together the nearer we got to the stairs that led to the palace above.
The “palace” was an entire massive tree, carved through the front to produce high-arched windows that were filled in with stained glass. A sprawling section of boardwalk, just like the one on the lower level, formed a courtyard at the base of the palace’s front wall. Thousands upon thousands of yellow elves dressed in black gathered to mourn their fallen kingling.
A choir of yellow elves stood at the far wall of the staging area, singing a deep, slow song. A raised platform in the stage’s middle held a coffin surrounded by flowers, and in it lay Kingling Mourn. His skin was sagging and pale, his yellow hair cemented in place by shellac. His mouth hung open.
If he ever did wake up, he’d be pissed no one had the decency to shut his mouth for him. It must be super dry in there.
His wife, Queenette Glory, sat in a high-backed chair to the side. She was old and yellow like her husband, but her mouth was closed, even as she sit there, crying.
“She’s been crying all week,” Zid said.
It seemed like the whole city had been. They crowded together, many with slime pets perched on their shoulders. A yellow mouse here, a blue parrot there, even a small green monkey. The animal-shaped slimes stayed close to their masters, though their slime’s color didn’t always match the shoulder they sat on.
“Kingling Mourn was a wise man,” a eulogist said, standing at one end of the stage. “Not so wise you couldn’t have a conversation over a beer, though. He was still down to earth. And he was kind, though not so kind that he’d go all soft on you. He was just about as giving as a person should be. And he was…” the man leaned over while someone whispered into his ear. “That’s right. He was brave. Never foolhardy, he still maintained a good bit of caution, but he had all the courage a kingling ought to.”
“Wow,” I said. “He sounds…” Exceptional? Mildly remarkable? A little bit above average? None of those things.
“He’s not allowed to outshine the queenette,” Zid said. “She holds the actual power. He was just a spouse. Her wake will be over the top by comparison.”
“And what’s with calling them kingling and queenette,” I asked. “Is it because elves are small?”
“We’re not small!” Zid said. “Humans and beastkin are oversized. But to answer your question, it’s because the Great Mother wanted to make sure no one mistook elven leaders for the emperor’s equal. They used to be kings and queens, until after the first god war when she shrank their titles.
“Remember that statue we saw earlier of the vanishing swordsman?” she continued. “The elves tell tales abou
t what life would be like if a human like him had stopped Duul instead of the goddess now in charge. I don’t see the point in making heroes out of lost hopes though. We have enough potential champions alive today without worrying about one that disappeared from history.”
“I don’t see any signs of undead guards,” Cindra said, “nor of a necromancer.”
That made me uneasy. The guards at the gate and along the central path were all zombified, and those areas were poorly traversed. I suspected they were meant to prevent people from leaving once something terrible started. Something likely to start here, where the entire population had gathered together.
With the temple closed and Mercifer jailed, I couldn’t wait around to see if I was right. I was on a tight timeframe to restore Cindra’s health, gain the Chal’s approval, rescue Valona and a majestic electric animal from Duul and the Great Mother’s grasp, and prove to Nola that we could defeat Kāya without me taking a sword in the heart.
I made a lot of plans before I set out on this trip, and fending off yellow elf zombies was not among them.
Once the eulogist finished his piece, a procession of men, women, and children marched up the steps at the side of the stage and approached the kingling. Each held a glass bottle, and when the first person reached the kingling, he opened the bottle and pulled out a fairyfly.
“What are they—” I didn’t have to finish my question. The man ripped the wings off the defenseless creature. The insect in his hand let out a shrill cry and a single tear rolled down her green angular face. The man shook his head as the insect went limp in his hands, and then he left, making room for the next person to do the same.
“This is disgusting,” I said. “They’re killing those insects. They have to know they can’t save the kingling by now if they’ve been doing this all week.”
“It’s tradition,” Zid said. “Elves do this at wakes to make sure the person being buried isn’t just gravely injured. It’s the only way to get fairyflies to release their healing tears.”
“Popping fairyflies is barbaric,” I said. “Cindra, hang back. Zid, you may want to find some guards and let them know about their zombie problem. If the city has a militia, it’s time they use it. I’m going to make a stand. One that will hopefully get me arrested.”
