Part 1

Aemi grew up in the minor noble House Sura in Kerse, the capital city of Druma. Her paternal grandmother, Euphema, had a reputation for wisdom and careful judgment, and was widely respected among the city’s merchants and minor nobility. Her grandfather, Mercus, had built the family’s standing from modest beginnings through successful trade and careful investments. When they died unexpectedly, their only son and Aemi’s father, Quaris, inherited their estate.

Quaris moved his family into the manor when Aemi was eight years old. His parents had left behind a respectable inheritance: the house itself, a modest reserve of gold and liquid assets, and several steady sources of income tied to property and investments. For Aemi, Euphema had also established a trust intended to ensure that she would receive a proper education in the cosmopolitan city, with her parents named as its trustees.

But while Quaris inherited the estate, he did not inherit the instincts that had built it. Over the following years the family’s finances began to unravel. At first the problem was simple enough: they spent more than they brought in. But Quaris tried to solve it by chasing new income rather than tightening their spending. He poured money into increasingly risky ventures, and those that were not ill-conceived to begin with faltered under his poor management.

As Aemi grew older, the signs of strain became impossible to miss. The staff was slowly shrinking in size, items were wearing out or breaking without being repaired, the grounds were deteriorating as caretakers were dismissed, and so on. By the time she was fifteen, the manor had developed a shabby appearance, and she could see more clearly the differences between her own standard of living and those of her friends—especially when she visited their homes.

And then there were the fights. At first they had been muffled arguments behind closed doors, but over time even that pretense disappeared, and they grew louder, and more frequent.

During one particularly bitter argument, Quaris accused Verana of stealing from him. The accusation struck Aemi as absurd. Their troubles were plainly the result of his own mismanagement, not some conspiracy involving his wife, and besides, their assets were shared by law. The idea that Verana could somehow steal from him felt less like a claim and more like desperation.

Aemi’s only escape from the chaos at home was the Kerse Conservatory of Music, where she enrolled at the age of eighteen. For a time it offered distance from the tensions of the manor; distance enough that she could almost pretend they didn’t exist.

It didn’t last.

In her second year, her mother appeared at Aemi’s student suite and said to her, “I’m leaving your father. I hope you understand.”

The only thing Aemi didn’t understand was why it had taken so long, but when she asked, “Will you be all right, financially?” she learned a shocking truth.

Her mother had seen the decline of the household years earlier, long before Aemi reached her teens. Unwilling to watch her life collapse alongside it, Verana had spent that time quietly skimming money from the family accounts and placing it into a private reserve for the day she would leave.

The revelation left Aemi stunned. Years of quiet deception sat uneasily beside the image she had always held of her mother. Verana, however, spoke of it as though it were the most practical decision in the world. When she asked Aemi to withdraw from the Conservatory and leave Kerse with her, the request felt less like an invitation and more like the final step in a plan that was years in the making.

Still reeling, Aemi refused.

This response touched off a bitter argument, and what began as disbelief quickly hardened into vitriol on both sides.

“Fine,” Verana snapped at last, the word dripping with contempt. “Then you can stay here with your father.” 

She turned and left in a fury.

Aemi didn’t know it then, but that would be the last time she saw her mother.

When the term at the Conservatory ended, Aemi was informed that she would not be allowed to return because her tuition for the coming year had not been paid. Assuming some mistake had been made with the payments from her trust, she arranged a meeting with the trust’s protector. As the explanation unfolded, she could feel her life steadily unraveling. Years earlier, Euphema (believing she was making the responsible choice) had named Verana as sole trustee in the event the marriage dissolved.

Her own mother had modified the trust and assigned a new beneficiary.

Unwilling to live with her father as he spiraled into financial ruin, and even less willing to seek out her mother (assuming she could find her), Aemi was, for the first time in her life, completely on her own. With only her meager accounts and half-completed music education to support her.

Part 2

Aemi had three days to figure out what she would do next, as that was when the term ended and she’d be expected to move out of her suite. Three days to come up with a plan that would get her through the start of the rest of her life.

The first step was figuring out how long her money would last. She had only a vague understanding of what things cost, but she was resourceful and rather good with people, and motivated to learn. She visited flats, tenement buildings, flophouses, and communal lodges; markets, bazaars, dispensaries, tailors, general stores, and farm stalls. Two days later, sore and exhausted beyond all measure, she stumbled back into her room with a better understanding of where she stood.

Aemi considered the three lowest buckets of living conditions: “can make it work”, “only if necessary”, and “total desperation”. Without any source of income, her money would support her for six to seven months in Kerse, and up to twice that long, depending on how far she was willing to travel, and how much she was willing to compromise on her standards.

Living in Kerse was not an option for more than just financial reasons. She couldn’t go home–she couldn’t put herself through the shame and embarrassment of her family’s collapse–and staying in the city would just stretch out the humiliation. Eventually, someone, somewhere, would recognize her, and then the questions would come. And, besides, the city’s gossip rags found the Sura family’s fall from its noble heights a perpetual source of entertainment. It was hard enough to live through it (You mean “run away from it”, that voice in her head corrected; she ignored it), she didn’t want to be reading about it, too, especially when you never knew when the next column would print. So, travel it was.

On the third day, Aemi packed up her essentials, sold the ornate, ivory flute her parents had given her (and purchased a modest wooden flute to replace it–she wasn’t an animal), and walked out of her suite, leaving the rest of her belongings. She spoke to no one and left no message behind. She didn’t even shut the door. When the staff at the Conservatory checked on her that evening, it was as if she had simply disappeared.

Part 3

Five months and over 140 miles later, Aemi, now using the surname Salinus, arrived at the logging town of Macridi. Her coin had depleted faster than she had expected, and at the current pace she had, maybe, another three months before she would be forced to let go of “only if necessary” and fall back to “total desperation”.

Work had been difficult to come by. The cities and towns became progressively smaller as Aemi traveled the Profit’s Flow away from Kerse, and most had nothing for her, especially since she had little to offer in the way of skilled labor. She gave each stop a few days, sometimes weeks, looking for something more substantial than part-time menial labor, before giving up and moving on. The one job she managed to find that was well-suited to her was at the Torch Orchard as a sort of receptionist for visitors–mostly merchants and tourists–but it was just a temporary thing, lasting only a couple of months until the season changed. Even if it could have been something permanent, the “only if necessary” expenses in such an exclusive region were barely covered by her income, so she couldn’t stay there forever, anyway.

Aemi’s frustration, and sense of desperation, was steadily growing. She nursed a lot of anger at her parents during this time: at her dad for bringing financial ruin on them all, and at her mom both for the depths of her deception and for cutting off the trust out of spite. That Aemi’s own financial situation, at least the part where she was spending more than she was earning, now mirrored her father’s was just more fuel for that fire. And while the anger did wonders for her resolve, in the back of her mind there was this tinge of guilt for what she had done, and how she had done it. Acknowledging that guilt, though, was an unpleasant thought, and it threatened to release a floodgate of mixed emotions that were worse, so she buried it deep and focused on the future. Besides, she thought, it was too late to change anything now.

Macridi was the first significant settlement after the three-day journey through the heart of the Palakar Forest. The forest itself was home to three faerie courts, each with differing opinions on trespassing by outsiders, so settlements along the river were rarely more than small and transient logging camps. In contrast, Macridi had come to an accord with its neighbors, and by exercising restraint over its logging activities, the town was able to grow both its industry and its population. It was home to over 3,000 permanent residents and responsible for the choicest darkwood and paueliel in all of Druma. That restraint in the logging industry also carried over to other aspects of life in town: unlike those in most of the polity, Macridi’s residents did not find it necessary to flaunt their wealth. To Aemi, it felt like a real city, and one that wouldn’t pass judgment on her currently nomadic life.

It was also the first place Aemi found steady work. In the mornings, she was a civic scribe for the city, a somewhat thankless job that just happened to require the services of a person who was both erudite and articulate. In the evenings, she was a server at The Forest’s Drake, an upscale inn and tavern complete with a common room and stage. Serving food and drinks to (often times) drunk loggers and fighting off unwanted advances were items not high on her list–she had settled into “only if necessary” territory long ago–but seeing musical performances from both local and visiting musicians provided a connection that she felt she had been losing. There was also a more direct and personal benefit that her manager was kind enough to indulge: after closing, she would often take to that stage herself to play her flute or sing, granting a short, private performance to the rest of the weary staff.

She had been living there for over a year when a bard traveling from downriver passed through town. In addition to his musical performance, he shared news from the capital.

Aemi almost dropped her tray of ale-filled mugs when he announced that the now-disgraced noble Quaris Sura had hung himself.

Part 4

Aemi worked her shift half-distracted as she listened to the rest of the bard’s news. Thankfully, there was no mention of a daughter, much less a search for one, and she was finally able to relax once he was done. Her fingers and muscles ached. She had not been aware of how tense she was.

The bard was still there, talking with Erco, the Drake’s manager, as they closed down the common room. She just needed to clean the bar, and she’d be free to go home. There’d be no private performance tonight.

She was wiping the countertop dry when she heard the bard’s voice behind her. “I’m truly sorry about your father.”

She stiffened up for just a moment, then quickly resumed drying the counter with her cloth.

“You have me confused with someone else.”

“I’m not here to spill your secrets. If I wanted to cause trouble for you, I would have done it already; I wouldn’t be talking to you now.”

When she didn’t answer, he continued, “I assume you’re using a pseudonym. No one even looked at you when–”

He cut himself off as she turned to face him. He was a few years older than she was, and had the look of someone who spends a great deal of time on the road. It was a look she had come to know well. He met her gaze with hazel eyes.

A quick glance showed there was no one in earshot. She said, “I’m Aemi Salinus here.”

He nodded in understanding. “Smart. Though perhaps smarter to change your given name, as well.”

“I…couldn’t.”

He regarded her for a moment, then nodded again. “I understand.” He paused, then said, “They searched for you–”

“I don’t want to know,” she said sharply.

He held up his hands as an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed.” He hesitated before adding, “And I’m not one to judge. Your choices are your business. If you’d rather I leave you alone…”

“No, it’s fine.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but then again, she didn’t sound very convincing. She added, “This is the first time I’ve spoken of it. And…you’re the first that’s known.”

He gave her a sad smile, acknowledging the difficulty without being patronizing. “We were in Kerse when…” he started, then thought better of it. He shook his head, saying, “I’m sorry. I’m being rude.” He bowed slightly to her and added, “Let’s start over. I’m Davio Helenus.”

She smiled in turn. “Davio. Thank you for your discretion.”

“Of course. The manager here says you play the flute, and that you have a lovely singing voice.”

Aemi blushed. “I…Yes. I’m not as accomplished–”

“I’d like to request a performance, if I may. He also said you sometimes do this for the staff here, after the room has closed.”

Aemi hesitated for a moment. She wanted to say “no” because the news about her father had hit her far harder than she was expecting. She wasn’t in the mood to play for anyone, much less someone she just met. One that already had her at a disadvantage. But something about the moment felt significant in a way she couldn’t put her finger on, and over the past year and a half she had learned to trust those instincts.

“OK. But just one song.”

She stepped up to the stage, pulling her familiar wooden flute from the deep pocket she’d sewn into her work clothes, breathed deeply to center herself, and began to play.

It was a melancholy tune, one she had learned during her second year at the Conservatory, and she leaned into that feeling, letting her unexpected grief flow through it. The piece was challenging but not difficult, and though she felt as if every mistake was magnified, she didn’t falter. Did not lose her composure. When she finished, the room was dead silent. One of the other servers, the barkeep, the cook, and of course, Erco, had come out to listen.

Then the applause came. Davio was smiling wide when he thanked her.

“I made so many mistakes,” she said.

“Small ones, only, and not as many as you think. It’s also a difficult piece, far harder than many realize until they try it. You have a real gift.”

She blushed again, and only said, “Thank you.”

 

The next evening, when she arrived at The Forest’s Drake for her shift, there was a wrapped package, long and narrow, waiting for her.

“He brought it in this morning,” Erco explained. “Just before he and his companions left.”

She pulled the cloth away to reveal an ornate wooden box. Inside was a beautiful flute of polished ebony, and attached to it was a hand-written note:

Play on.

-Davio

Part 5

The first few weeks after that evening were ones of mild apprehension and occasional sleepless nights, but Aemi finally concluded that Davio had been true to his word. No one came looking for her. No one confronted her over her name or her past. No one expressed any doubt or suspicion that she wasn’t anyone other than who she said she was.

No one got too close to her, either, but that was by her choosing. She had friends, but kept them at arm’s length. She had suitors, but politely declined them all. The fabrications about her past were a lot to manage, and the closer she got to someone the harder it became. The more it felt like a false intimacy. She had a whole history created for herself, one of humble beginnings–some half-truths taken from her childhood, some stolen from her childhood friends, others completely made up–including the events that led to her traveling alone along the Profit’s Flow. It was an enormous house of lies she’d built, and she took no chances with it.

Another year passed.

Her responsibilities as one of Macridi’s civic scribes had also grown over this time, and it now paid well enough that she didn’t need to work as a server in The Forest’s Drake. She did it anyway, though mostly just on weekends. She liked the people and the atmosphere too much to leave it behind. Erco had even persuaded her to perform for the patrons, not just the serving staff, as part of The Drake’s official entertainment. She agreed to take the stage two nights a month, and though she was not as talented as most of the traveling performers that passed through, she was one of their own.

For the first time since leaving Kerse she wasn’t worried about her future, but she admitted to herself that she was lonely. To solve that, she’d need to move on. Start fresh somewhere else, only this time as herself, not the person she had made up. It would be a big step, and one that she didn’t think she was quite ready for.

On a Starday night in early Rova, she had just finished a performance in The Drake, and when she stepped off the stage, she was shocked to see Davio beaming at her.

“A hug for an old friend?” he asked.

She laughed excitedly, and they embraced.

“Thank you for the flute!” she exclaimed. “It’s so beautiful. I still can’t believe you did that for me.”

“It was far less than you deserve,” he said. “Come! I want to introduce you to my companions.”

Part 6

His friends were seated at a round table towards the back of the room. Two humans–a man and woman of Chelaxian or Taldan descent, perhaps mixed with a bit of Kellid, both of whom had several years on her–and a dwarven man. On the table were four tankards–one presumably Davio’s–and the remains of a communal plate of bread and cheese. They looked up as Aemi and Davio approached.

The human man had a lithe, muscular frame and straight, black hair that came down to his shoulders. There was a casually dangerous look about him, and his relaxed posture belied someone who was keeping track of the room. The woman was equally slender and muscular, with wavy, brown hair tied back in a tail. The expression on her rounded face was more inviting. The dwarf was stocky and a wall of muscle, as dwarves in this area tended to be. His reddish-brown hair was so unkempt it looked like he wore a mop as a hat.

Davio did the introductions. “My friends, this is Aemi Salinus. Aemi, I’d like you to meet Janngu, Annet, and Volkhard,” indicating the human man, woman, and the dwarf.

The first two acknowledged her with a nod. Vokhard said, in a sonorous voice, “Ma’am. It is a pleasure.”

She greeted them in turn, and as Davio sat, he gestured towards the empty chair.

“What did I tell you?” he said to his companions. “She’s good, is she not?”

“You have a lovely voice,” Volkhard said.

Annet turned her head towards Davio, but glanced at Aemi as she spoke. “She’s good. But she’s inexperienced, and…a little young.”

“We were all young once,” Davio answered. “And we don’t need ‘experienced’, just ‘good’.”

Janngu just regarded her silently.

Aemi was uncomfortable. She felt like she was on display, being judged like a prize animal, and her expression hardened. “If this is how you introduce people to your friends,” she said sharply, “you can take your damned flute back.”

Janngu couldn’t suppress his laugh at this response. “Oh, she has got you figured out, Davio.”

She glared at him and started to get up.

“Wait. Please,” Janngu said, suddenly softening. “We apologize for being so rude. You’re right. This was no way to introduce ourselves. And a terrible way of…extending an opportunity to you.”

Davio, who was looking genuinely hurt by the earlier rebuke, smiled hopefully.

Aemi’s anger melted away, and now she was thoroughly lost. A what? She settled back into the chair. “I…I already have a job.”

Davio chuckled. “Please. You spend your days rewriting and editing letters. They value you for your penmanship and your grammar. On the weekends, you’re here, serving food and spirits to a bunch of drunken loggers who only see you from your thighs to your chest, and have a limited understanding of the word ‘no’. You should be up there,” he said, pointing to the stage with his thumb, “but you only do it twice a month.”

Aemi was stunned. “How…how do you know…?”

Volkhard snorted loudly, Annet rolled her eyes, and Janngu gave her a look that said Don’t be naive.

Davio ignored the question and continued. “Listen to me. You have real talent. And it is wasted here. Just…hear us out. Let us make this pitch to you, and we’ll give you some time to decide. We won’t coerce you, or pressure you. The choice is yours to make. Give us that much?”

Aemi thought it over and said. “OK. I’ll listen. What is this ‘opportunity’?”

All heads turned to Janngu. He said, “Let’s find somewhere private.”

Part 7

They entered the grounds of Kalistocrat Tronak’s estate mid-morning on horseback, pulling their covered wagon with “The Five Kings Minstrels” emblazoned in colorful lettering on its wooden side panels. The preparations for the Harvest Feast celebration were well under way, and various minstrels, troubadours, and wandering players that would make up the day’s entertainment were putting up tents on the grounds that were set aside for their camp. 

From the outside, Davio, Aemi, and Volkhard (who had a surprising talent for percussion instruments) were the minstrels, with Volkhard doubling as their guard when traveling. Janngu and Annet were the porters, and also kept watch over their tent.

On the inside? Well…

---

“So you and Annet are thieves,” Aemi said. It wasn’t a question or accusation.

“When it’s required of us,” Janngu replied. “For this, it is. We’re not asking you to steal. Just perform. Sing. Play your flute. Do what you’re good at.”

“You, me, Volkhard, our job is different,” Davio said. “We travel where Janngu and Annet ask us to go, and we perform there, and at stops along the way. They do their ‘business’. We are their transportation, and their cover.”

---

There were nine acts scheduled for the day, and somehow, Davio had managed to land them a coveted slot towards the end. “We were here last year and I made some…friends,” he explained. “And adding a bribe or two didn’t hurt.”

Last year had been a dry run of sorts. Today it was for real.

Annet had produced a copy of the staff schedule last night—Aemi knew better than to ask how she got it—and this late slot would be towards the end of a shift when, hopefully, those on duty were just a little more tired. Just a little more lax. Less likely to notice Janngu doing…well… whatever it was he’d be doing. Or to intervene if they did.

---

“And we won’t be stealing while we’re there. This whole charade helps me get into the manor quietly and then out again. Nothing more. All I need is half an hour,” Janngu said.

“And what will you do once you’re there?”

“Do you really want to know the answer to that question? Think carefully.”

---

When the minstrels ahead of them were finishing their act, Davio cast a spell to enhance Aemi’s performance. She had rarely had magic used on her, and never in this manner. It felt…strange. “I trust you completely,” he explained, “and you are good enough to do this. But. It’s your first performance before a large crowd, and you’re nervous. It will help you be confident in yourself. It will last long enough to get you through the anxiety.”

She nodded.

“Don’t get used to it,” Volkhard added. “We’re not making a habit of this.”

Annet wished her luck, and Aemi thanked her in return. Aemi was going to say something to Janngu, but he was suddenly nowhere to be seen. He was right there not half a minute ago; she hadn’t even seen him leave. How did he do that?

Davio broke her out of her rumination. “We’re up.”

---

“Why me? Why now?” Aemi asked.

“We had another with us, but they quit two months ago. Didn’t want this anymore. It’s hard on a person, spending so much time on the road, so we respect that decision,” Davio said. “As for you? You are good enough to perform with us. And, this life we lead…it works best if you have no ties.”

“Meaning, my father is dead, and my mother may as well be. My life here is built on lies.”

“That is a painfully blunt assessment. But, yes.”

---

When their act was over, Aemi barely remembered more than a jumble of images and emotions. The fear when she first took to the stage. How it melted away when they began to play. How comfortable she had become with the onyx flute. Being part of a whole, of something more than just herself. How the crowd listened intently as she sang. The applause afterwards. She finally understood what Dario meant that night in Macridi.

Annet and Janngu greeted them when they returned to the tent and said, quietly, “It’s done”.

---

“And when it’s over, then what? What happens to me?”

Janngu replied, “Then you have a choice. Come back to this life, maybe start a new one. That is enough money to buy you a few years to figure out what’s next.

“Or, you can join us.”

“And if you decide to stay with us,” Davio said, “I will teach you to do more with your gift than just play music. You’ll also get more than this pocket change. You’ll earn a share of the prize.”

---

The following night, she sat with Davio and his companions around the campfire and listened as they told her stories of their four years together. She realized she was looking at a family of sorts. Like her, they all had their secrets, but among each other, those secrets didn’t matter. They accepted one another for who they are now, not who they were or what brought them here. And they were inviting her in. All she had to do was step through the door.

When the last story was told and the silence fell over them, she looked into the fire for just a moment, watching it burn. Then, she said, “I’ll do it. I’ll stay.”

Part 8

It was three weeks’ travel from the Kalistocrat’s estate outside of Alabastrine to Elidir, stopping at inns along the way. Some nights all three performed, sometimes just one or two. They spent nearly two weeks in Elidir, proper, while Janngu and Annet conducted their business.

One night, on the road to the capital city, Aemi got brave enough to ask Annet when the job at the festival would truly be done. “Another month or so,” she answered. “We don’t want anyone to connect it to the festival, or us. And we need to meet with someone, first.”

It was, in fact, closer to two months. They had returned to Druma and were in the beautiful port city of Detmer when Janngu and Annet left. They were gone for four days, and when they returned, they carried with them a magical sack that was larger on the inside than out. Janngu emptied its contents on the bed. It was more platinum than Aemi had ever seen in one place.

“Our payment,” Janngu announced.

They were not exceptionally wealthy. They certainly had money, but they also had expensive tastes, and expensive tastes were easy to satisfy in Druma. Everyone was smart enough to set some of their coin aside–there were “dry spells” as Annet put it–but they also wanted to enjoy the fruits of their labor. That, and after several days on the road, it was hard to argue with luxury beds, hot baths, and fine meals.

As promised, Davio was teaching her what it truly meant to be a bard. “Minstrels only play music,” he said. “We do so much more.” It took a great deal of time, and the road was not the best environment to learn, but she was catching on. By the time they reached Detmer, she could cast some simple spells and weave magic into her music.

All told, these were the best times she’d had in her life.

It lasted another three months.

Part 9

They were traveling eastward along the river on the southwestern edge of the Palakar forest. The trees to their left were dense and crowded the road against the riverbank, leaving a very narrow path. It was getting late in the day, enough that Aemi could see the occasional glow of the curious sprites that were pacing them in the forest.

You couldn’t live in Macridi for any length of time without learning something about the fey, and in particular, the sprites, which always seemed to find their way into town to do everything from steal food to play tricks on unwary strangers. Some even slept under the eaves of homes.

The secret to sprites, in Aemi’s mind, was to embrace them. She would leave small amounts of food out for them–mostly fruit, bread, and cheese–and the occasional bauble. Beads, metal buttons, colorful ribbons and fabric, and the like. Treat the sprites well, and they’d leave you alone, maybe even do something kindly for you in turn. Piss them off, and it’d be like living with a hornet’s nest. She always made it a point to have a small bag of shiny things with her.

She was watching the sprites rather than the road when Davio brought the wagon to a halt.

“Do you smell that?” he asked.

Up ahead, the trees were clearing away from a bend in the road. She sniffed at the air a few times before catching the scent of oil or pitch.

“Naphtha,” Volkhard said. “I caught a hint of it just now.”

“I smell it, too,” added Janngu.

“I don’t like this. What do we do?” Davio asked. “Turn around?”

“We’d be sitting ducks trying to do that here. The road is too narrow and the forest is too dense for the wagon. We’d have to unhitch it, turn it around ourselves…it will take too much time. If this is a trap, they could get impatient and just come for us here. Whoever they are.”

“Then we spring the trap,” Volkhard said. “But on our terms.”

Janngu nodded. “I’ll cut through the trees and scout ahead.”

“I have a better idea,” Aemi said as she dismounted from her horse. She pointed to the trees. “We ask them.”

Every head turned to look at her like she had lost her mind.

“Trust me. It won’t take long.”

She dashed into the forest, not more than twenty feet past the treeline, and laid out some strips of metallic ribbon and glass beads in various colors. “I offer payment for a small service,” she called out to the trees in Sylvan. “If you please.”

A few minutes later, Aemi emerged from the woods and said, “There are six men in an old logging camp. One richly dressed, two in black, three others. One of those is just inside the forest, over there. In the camp is a cart with a large barrel on it. The source of that smell. They’ve been here for three days, but just took up their current positions.”

Janngu gave her a rare smile. “Good work. So that’s two Mercenary League, three hired hands, and the one in charge. Annet and I will both cut through the trees. Volkhard, take point. Tell the wagon when to stop, so it’s not in view of any archers.

“And be ready for fire. If they’re fool enough to bring naphtha into a forest, they may be reckless enough to use it. I just hope whoever this is wants to talk, not fight.”

Part 10

Aemi drew her shortbow but stayed with the wagon, swapping positions with Davio. He and Volkhard went ahead on horseback.

They saw a man in robes of white and gold—obviously a Kalistocrat—flanked by two soldiers of the Mercenary League, both armed with longbows and swords, waiting for them. Behind them was the cart the sprites had described, at the edge of the treeline and facing the forest. The gate at the back of the cart stood open. Two men were atop it, next to a large barrel. The smell of naphtha was stronger here.

The Kalistocrat raised his right hand above his head and made a circling gesture in the air. The two men in the cart tipped the barrel over, sending naphtha spilling across the road and into the river. As they jumped off, the Kalistiocraft gestured again with his hands, and a wall of flame erupted as the fuel ignited, blocking the path ahead. Naphtha continued to trickle into the river, and small, burning patches of it flowed downstream.

“What in the name of the gods is this arrogant, grandstanding fool thinking?” Dario asked Volkhard.

“He’s mad, is what he is,” the dwarf replied.

The Kalistocrat called out to them. “I want the man you know as Janngu Salek, and the woman you know as Annet Trias.”

“Why are a Prophet and two Blackjackets impeding travel on a trade road?” Volkhard asked, deliberately using their impolite titles. “One would be tempted to report this as an illegal blockade!”

“I have no time for these games.” The Kalistocrat called out towards the treeline, louder this time. “I know you are here, ‘Janngu’! Did you think you could steal from a Kalistocrat and just walk away?”

Janngu emerged from the forest, bow in hand, the missing third man shuffling ahead of him, his wrists and ankles tightly bound. Janngu shoved the man hard and he fell to the ground. Behind the Kalistocrat, the two hired men drew crossbows and held them at the ready. The Blackjackets, to their credit, looked unsure about the wisdom of this standoff and held their position, watching events unfold.

“It didn’t belong to him,” Janngu said.

“And it doesn’t belong to you, either!”

“And I don’t have it: its rightful owner does!”

Davio glanced towards the river. He could see ripples there, near where the flame was spreading along the water.

“Rationalize it however you like,” the Kalistocrat said, “but you have still committed a crime!”

“And how will he prosecute the theft of that which he, himself, stole? Is that why you are out here like brigands? Because he’s so confident the law will support him?”

Davio watched as the ripples moved against the current towards the shore, growing more turbulent as they approached.

“Oh, gods,” Davio said, his voice horrified as realization dawned. “He fouled the water.” He yelled out a warning as loudly as he could. “Nuckelavee!”

---

Aemi’s nerves frayed as flames erupted up ahead. She could see Davio and Volkhard’s backs, but not who they faced. Despite the fire, both men remained calmly astride their horses—a sign this was all posturing, nothing more.

Moments later, Davio shouted something, and the scene turned chaotic as their horses reared up, sending Volkhard tumbling to the ground. She could hear screaming from the camp–multiple people screaming now. She didn’t know what was happening. She didn’t know what to do.

Annet burst out from the trees up ahead, running towards her, waving her arms to get her attention, shouting something that Aemi couldn’t hear. There was a loud crash from the camp, followed by more screams, and then Aemi saw something charge around the bend and into view: what looked like a grotesque horse, with a skeletal figure riding on its back, wielding a trident. No, not riding. It was part of the horse. She could see the creature’s muscles and tissue as though the skin had been peeled away. She froze as the horrific thing looked right at her.

Annet was much closer now. “–from the wagon! Get away from the wagon!”

Aemi snapped out of it. She tumbled from the saddle and ran into the trees just as the nuckelavee charged. The horse panicked and tried to turn around to bolt away. The wagon teetered dangerously, then fell on its side, toppling the horse with it as the nuckelavee galloped past. It stabbed the fallen horse with the trident, and the horse cried out, then fell still.

The nuckelavee turned around and stopped, raised its trident above its head, and the river swelled.

Annet reached Aemi, grabbed her arm, and yelled, “Don’t watch it, girl! Run!”

Aemi ran.

Part 11

Water surged towards the forest with a roar. She saw a tree with a low fork, jumped into the cradle, clambered higher, and braced herself between the trunks. Three feet of water, driftwood, and wrack crashed into the tree line a split second later. Her perch shuddered with the impact, but held against the flow. She looked back; there was no sign of Annet.

There was a loud cracking of wood as the wagon slammed into a tree and strained against the deluge. The water flow slowed to a stop, then reversed, rushing downslope back towards the shore, sweeping the wagon and its contents—contents that included everything she owned—into the river.

The screaming and shouting had stopped, and an eerie silence fell around her as the water receded. She waited, too terrified to move. And then she heard it: the sound of hooves on rocky ground. The nuckelavee was walking along the shoreline, along the road that was now swept clean, with the trident in one hand and what looked like someone’s head in the other. It paced back and forth, the horse’s head snorting angrily every few steps.

A tiny, yellow glow flew through the trees towards her, slowing to a stop a few feet away. It was a male sprite–the one she had bargained with just minutes earlier.

“This way,” he said in Sylvan. ”Quickly! Before it decides to search beneath the canopy.”

The light was fading fast, and there was nowhere else to go. When the nuckelavee’s pacing took it out of view, she dropped to the sodden earth and ran, following the sprite deeper into the woods.

Part 12

When she entered the Palakar Forest, Aemi’s only possessions were the clothes she was wearing, the dagger at her waist, the bow in her hand, and the quiver of arrows strapped across her back.

Part 13

She had no idea where the sprite was leading her.

As darkness fell, she had to use one of her spells to produce light just to see the path ahead of her. Her sprite companion found this amusing, pointing out that she almost glowed like he did. His voice barely registered. She was so numb that everything felt distant.

Eventually, he stopped and said, “You can rest here tonight.” And he flew up and away, leaving her completely alone.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, just that at one point she realized she was shivering and needed to move. She cleared a section of the forest floor to build a campfire, collected some dried wood and leaves, and used the first spell Davio had taught her, the one he told her to prepare every day, without exception: “It’s the most important spell you’ll learn for when you’re on the road. It starts a fire to keep you warm.”

Davio. She didn’t know what happened to him. He’s probably dead. They probably all are.

How did this happen? How had she lost everything she had so quickly?

Why had she left home like she had? She didn’t even stop to see her father. I was more worried about how I would feel than how he would. I didn’t think of him at all. 

Why did she fight with her mother? Was she supposed to live her life in poverty, too? Why didn’t she at least make the effort to fix the rift between them? I cared more about what I wanted than what she needed.

Why not stay in Kerse, and rebuild her life there? I was too embarrassed by how others might see us. Might see me.

This, she realized, was the sum of it: She thought only of herself. And all too often, the solution to a problem had been to lie, or cut ties and run away. Sometimes, she did both. Because it was easier.

And this is where that road had led.

Four years of buried guilt surged to the surface. She lay by the fire and wept.

Part 14

Aemi spent her days simply grieving. She followed a stream–her only source of water–deeper into the forest, not even bothering with spells for direction. When she was hungry, she ate what she could forage or hunt. Some days, that meant going without.

Three weeks passed, and by the end of it, she was emotionally numb. There was no longer any grief because she couldn’t feel anything at all. With three arrows left and two days without food, she confronted reality: she couldn’t live like this. She couldn’t live like she had before.

People don’t change. Not unless they have to. She’d seen that time and again, and had no reason to believe that she was any different. That meant, if she wanted to change, if she wanted to be better—and she did, even if only out of desperation—she had to make it happen. She had to choose something she couldn’t run away from. A path she couldn’t walk from a place of pure self-interest.

She sat down, closed her eyes, and began to sing.

Part 15

Aemi named her familiar Iskaryn. She was a beautiful, blue whistling thrush, longer than her forearm from head to tail. When she opened her indigo wings, they spread out majestically, nearly a foot and a half from tip to tip. And she sang.

---

“Where will we go?” Iskaryn asked in Sylvan.

It made sense, Aemi supposed. The Palakar Forest was steeped in fey magic—old, subtle, and everywhere. It had shaped the working that brought Iskaryn to her. Of course she spoke the language of this place.

Their lives were bound together now, one blurring into the other. She could feel what Iskaryn was feeling, and share her own feelings in return. It would take some getting used to. But what mattered most was this: Iskaryn would not let Aemi hide from herself.

She wasn’t sure how to answer. Her heart ached again, heavy with loss. But at least it meant she could feel again.

“I don’t know,” Aemi said as she ducked under a low branch. “Somewhere new. Forward.”

“We have a suggestion,” a chorus of three voices echoed from ahead.

Aemi jolted, the voices shattering her thoughts. She looked up–and saw them.

Three women, towering above her. Giants, easily a dozen feet tall, maybe more. Each wore rich robes, some lined in fur, with hair braided like ropes that nearly touched the ground. One was old, one was young, and the third was in between.

Norns.

Aemi dropped to her knees, heart pounding, and bowed her head low. 

Part 16

The norns were gone, but Aemi was still trembling. Her breaths came ragged, and her pulse drummed in her ears. She couldn’t make sense of what had just happened–only that something vast and timeless had taken notice of her. Had spoken to her. And told her that her fate was no longer hers alone.

She had chosen to live for more than just herself. In doing so, she had opened a door she hadn’t even known was there–one that led to new possibilities, new futures. In binding herself to Iskaryn, she had also been bound to others. She did not know who they were, only that their paths would cross in the Isgeri town of Breachill.

At her feet lay the small coin purse and the single Harrow card the norns had left for her. She picked up both.

You’ll know them by the cards they carry, they had said.

She studied hers. It depicted a richly dressed woman seen from behind, standing at the threshold of a golden throne room. If she looked closely, she could make out a faint, ghostly figure looking back at her.

Something about the woman tugged at her. Her hair, the way she stood—it was too familiar to ignore. Like she was seeing a different version of herself. Maybe someone she might have been, or that she was yet to become.

It was titled: The Empty Throne.

The purse was light, but without it, she had nothing. She’d stretched less before. She could again.

“Breachill, then,” she said, and felt the weight of it settle deep within. Iskaryn landed on her shoulder, sensing the shift in her.

She drew a calming breath, then started walking.