This is Chapter 10-3 of a serial fantasy novel.
“Thank you. I’ve heard that things have been rather stirred up of late. Your Torchkeeper speaks of some high adventure,” said June.
Something played underneath Atrocity’s expression, a little twitch in her smile, a pair of blinks that came too fast. Junelight sized her up. Barely past teenagehood, short. Blonde hair streaked with brown, unkempt and barely contained by a rough ponytail. A soft face though, tiny features save her eyes—they were almost unnaturally large, gold flecked with green. Her garb was a touch more fashionable than her sister’s: a light brown dress with a built in hood.
“She met a boy!” supplied Zoey.
Atrocity rolled her eyes and said, “Yes, a charming young lad whose agenda included rendering, general destruction and forcible eviction.”
Zoey-Lee appeared unconvinced.
Junelight said, “I’d like to learn more, later, at your convenience ma’am.”
“Sure, yes,” said Atrocity. “I’ll be about, around, and available most days. Are you here on investigation?”
“On other business, but I felt your pyre go up. Part of the job’s to be informed about any potential trouble.” She flipped up her lapel, flashing the sigil.
“Pretty! What’s that!” Zoey said.
“...Ghost Tide,” whispered Atrocity.
“I’ll be in touch. I have to downcycle, I’ve had a draining tether. Ladies.” She bowed and walked down through the tunnel. The stairs on the other side sensed her and unfolded, letting her back up into the outer chamber.
She found her way to the feasting hall. It was filled with logging crews and carvers that had ended their afternoon shifts. Eyes followed her everywhere. She collected her food and set about nourishing herself and beckoning curious folks over, learning as much as she could about the town and those who passed through it.
After a few conversations (and a pint or two), the tension melted away and the crowd seemed to accept the Culdurian oddity. Overall, she pegged the vibes as more cautious than leery. Recent events with the Falsesparkers had some people on edge, and the pyre-lightning still haunted a score of memories.
She learned that most of the recent wood export was Artwork-reinforced beaming for some residential expansion projects in a city farther south. Beyond the recent Falsesparker trouble, there was nothing else notable happening and travelers tended to stay a night at most. No one had heard about or seen someone matching Plasivé or Uliyah’s description.
The food and conversation brought back some energy, but she still needed to downcycle. So she went to the community hall to see if she could rent one of the smaller lodgings for the night.
There were several available, and she took the one that was closest to the southern treeline. It wasn’t much—barely a cabin—but it was palatial compared to the canvas tents and fur rolls she’d been spending her recent nights in. She put her things away, stretched, and took a quick nap, programming her Nightwonder Artwork to buzz her awake as soon as the first stars appeared.
When it did, she left her hut and went to the treeline, wandering and stopping to touch plants and regard the sky from time to time. To any onlookers, she’d be on a casual stroll. She imagined it was annoying one particular onlooker.
Junelight worked her way into the trees, eventually coming to the base of a massive steelbarch. There was a tiny rustle above her, then a soft voice carried down.
“Took your sweet time, hm?”
“You can never be too careful, Mossa,” June said, keeping her gaze level. She knelt down by the roots of the tree, pretending to be interested in a clump of dim, glowing mushrooms. She extended her senses, scanning for any nearby crystals. They were clear.
“I guess we’re staying the night then?” said the shoot-lead.
“I am, yes. I need one or both of you to get a message to Point Starfire.”
“Okay. What’s the word?”
“There should be a bole-marshal arriving there tonight,” said June. “Probably from All-bit-tel. Tell them, ‘spark forty.’”
“Spark forty. Swinn will go. I’ll stay.”
“As you wish.” Junelight stood up.
“And how long do you think you’ll be visiting your pals here?”
“At least another day. Better get comfy,” said June.
“Great.”
“Good night.”
Junelight made to leave, considering taking a longer route back, and maybe even passing through the community hall one more time to talk to the nighttime crowd.
“Junelight,” Mossa called down.
She stopped, angling her chin up in acknowledgment.
“Any… any news on your boy?”
June’s shoulders fell. She bowed her head and shook it side to side.
“Okay. Good night. Good luck,” said Mossalea.
June risked a look back up over her shoulder. She couldn’t see the shoot-lead, it was too dark and the lower boughs of the tree were too thick. But she let a single low flash of blue light come from both her eyes—a silent thank you. It was probably meaningless to the Falsesparker, but Junelight found that her words were stuck.
Weary, she picked her way back to the little town under the winking stars.
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