I told him you’d understand, though. I mean, I didn’t actually know if you would, but obviously you do. Oh, right, sorry, the Council doesn’t want to hear any of that stuff. Where was I?
Yes! So, I joined their little corps, and we spent the next moon trying to get access to the Archives. Piret managed to get transferred there, though apparently they were confused by her request. She managed to slide into some of the actual stacks of books and there are a ton of old records missing, you wouldn't—
Yes, I joined the resistance. What was I supposed to do, Hen, kick my heels? The City is in crisis, by the burning stone, and for all I knew you were a casualty in a war no one else even knows about. Of course I had to join.
Stop interrupting me. The missing records, right. So Piret did some poking around and she discovered that the whole reason the Archives are closed to everyone but certain clerical kinds of priests is that about forty years ago, a priest absconded with a bunch of the really ancient books. They said they don’t know which ones, but Piret never believed it. As it turns out, though, that priest lives in Oak whatever place here now—This is Marsalis. And he stole the missing books, and we’ve seen them.
One of them says the Founder brought some kind of dark creature to the mountain, when the City was still in its early stages hundreds of years ago. And the reason the mines are so productive and the wastes don’t encroach on us and the Heart Wood can’t touch us is because the creature makes sure they can’t. And we have to feed it certain bloodlines in trade. I mean, is that the most fucked up thing you’ve ever heard? Piret said they weren’t eaten, though, just kind of—Sorry, you know, but the Council doesn’t. Their throats were torn open and they were bled dry. The sacrifices, I mean.
Oh. Oh, I never thought about blood magic. That’s not real though, is it? I mean, I know there’s magic in the Heart Wood, but…that can’t be real. Can it?
Well, whether it’s a metaphor or it’s a real thing, there are stories about creatures like that in the Heart Wood, Marsalis says, but they’re all from before the wastes, before anyone even lived on the mountain. Maybe even in the forest. But we didn’t know that until we came here, so let me get to that part, next.
So Piret told me and Jak what she found, and right about then, Sister Eva made contact with Gareth, here. Some smuggler caravan or something, right? Bringing out silver and iron and bringing in dried fruit and nuts for the fat cats in the High City. Illegal, my ass. Gareth told her about the books here in the Heart Wood, and Sister Eva sent Piret to get eyes on them and see if there was anything useful in them. And of course, I had to come, because she couldn’t go alone, and Jak would’ve been missed by too many people who could do something about it.
Since we got here, we learned that the river problem is definitely something from the City—and we already know something big and fucked up is sucking us dry, so why not the river, too? It almost has to be related, right? So, Marsalis thought we should come here, to talk to the Council and pool resources.
So here we are, and here you are! I can’t believe it! Okay, yes, fine, you can talk now. It was a lot to get through, I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything!
Part V: Hendrik
Chapter 1: Wildcrafter Settlement, Heart Wood, Grain Moon Waxing
In spite of what must’ve been a dark, harrowing journey from the City to the Heart Wood, Kajja had never looked more vibrant and happy. She’d blossomed into the personality that had been just a bud when he’d last seen her. Her shining, chestnut hair was half bound up half down her neck, wild flyaway pieces framing her dainty face and earnest eyes. As she told her story in the winery that night, more and more people gathered to hear her as word got out that someone from the City had come with definite information.
“She should be a bard,” Dagan commented when she finished, obviously impressed with her endless string of increasingly dangerous adventures.
“She should be safe at home,” Hendrik corrected, though there was no point crying over spilled ale. Kajja, like him, was out of the box. There’d be no putting her back in.
Dagan patted his arm and shot him a sympathetic look.
“She really is a good storyteller,” Innan said on his other side, their quiet voice almost reverential.
Hen sighed, still trying and failing not to be annoyed at Innan for interrupting him and Dagan back at the house. Anyhow, if anything could be worth it, it was seeing Kajja and Piret, somehow unscathed, at least physically. Every time Piret’s gaze caught his, there was something haunted in it that hadn’t been there before.
He wondered if she was thinking the same thing about him. “I should talk to Piret,” he said. “She was—she’s a friend. A good friend. Her charge was killed with Kass.”
“Lyla,” Dagan said quietly. “Yes, of course, my dearest.”
Kajja was still holding court with some of the councilors, so Hen slipped by her with a squeeze of her arm, then held out both hands to Piret.
Her shoulders visibly relaxed as she squeezed his hands. Not quite a traditional greeting, but for two guards, awfully affectionate. He suddenly remembered how she’d hugged him in the alcove of the See, after he couldn’t finish the Prayer. After the priests took Kass and Lyla for the last time.
“I can’t believe you’re alive.” Piret laughed, but it was high and nervous.
“Barely, until a scout found me a moon ago. He’s over there.”
Piret followed his gaze. “And the red-head?”
“They’re a friend. Something called an earthsinger?”
“I’ve heard of them. Do we think it’s real, all this magic stuff?”
Hendrik shrugged, smiling slightly at how quickly they fell back into secret conferences. Almost like he hadn’t been lost to disorder for more than three moons and wandering the wood for another. Almost like she hadn’t joined the resistance and possibly acquired a drinking problem—but they’d get to that later. “Lifecasting seems to be, anyhow. Dagan uses his at least once a day, usually first thing in the morning, and he always knows things.”
“So does Gareth.” Piret glanced at the other scout, who stood sipping a cup of cider placidly.
“Innan said we used to have earthsingers too. Maybe that’s in the Archives.” He snorted.
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t be surprised, Hen. I almost had my ass handed to me, sneaking around in there; the good stuff is buried so deep I had to slip past multiple checkpoints and pick a lot of locks.”
“I didn’t know you could pick locks.”
“I couldn’t. Jak had to teach me.”
Hen chuckled. “Of course he did.”
“He really was sad about you, by the way.”
“Sad he couldn’t reach the halls of power from my bed?” Far from being hurt by the idea, Hendrik admired Jak even more for it. As if it ever would’ve happened that way. It was strange, how it’d seemed almost possible just a few moons ago. Now…never. Never in a million years.
“Yeah, that too.” She grinned. “But also, that he didn’t get to see you after Kass.”
Hen frowned. “Did he know? About the killing?”
“Yes and no. Sister Eva had already told him the basics. He thought Kass had a few more moons, and the resistance might be able to get him out of it. Of course, that was never going to happen. Jak would have to fuck his way up to that evil, murderous creature in the See, for that to be feasible.”
“Is it really in the Great See?” Hen wondered, repressing a shudder. To think of all the times they’d been there, all the full moon rituals. Was it like dangling fresh meat before a starving dog, doing that every moon?
