It was more than a little comforting, being here, with music always on to chase away the silence, sometimes low but audible, lumina stones always glowing to hold off the gloom, sometimes only one or two but never dark, and friends always there.
I did worry about the house getting cold, with all that snow and no obvious form of heating. Apparently portable houses, being in a sense improved tents, also kept the temperature stable the way a tent did—at least mostly. It was a little cooler inside than usual, but nothing a sweater or a bnket or snuggling with another body couldn’t counteract. Myu, having had enough petting, burrowed under a bnket on Zanshe’s cot and fell asleep. I had no idea how she could breathe under there, but that was just a normal cat thing in any world, I guess.
Heket brought out her story cards and arranged them on the table, offering a kind of solo version of the challenge she’d done at the festival: she’d start, and any time one of us wanted, we could flip over a card from any of the piles and she would work the result into it.
With Heket’s permission, I investigated the cards, seeing them up close for the first time. They were striking. Each of the four types, location and character and event and item, had a wide border of a different colour and style, and the box for text was distinctive to that type, top or bottom and leaning left or right. All of the art was in bold colours and lines, easy to see. There were basic character cards, combinations of species and gender and age, and more specific ones that gave a profession or an ability or a character trait or something about their background; there were locations as broad as ‘the Grassnds’ and as narrow as ‘a vilge in the Midnds’ and as precise as ‘a bookstore’ or ‘Ironcrest School’.
“These aren’t all the same artist, are they?” I asked.
Heket shook her head. “There are five in particur whose work I tend to like most, and I buy them whenever there are new ones. Others I bought individually because they caught my attention, one way or another. There are many, many cards out there, and many artists who add to them every year. They’re useful, for games like this or with another storyteller, and for inspiration. When telling stories to a child, some show them the cards as they go, to help them visualize it. Even casual storytellers like me tend to build up rge collections, and some people specializing in other arts find them useful in other ways, musicians and artists and others. There are still a few concepts I’d like to find cards for but I haven’t yet. Either they don’t exist or the art for them just doesn’t work for me. Art that’s too fine and softly-coloured is no good, obviously. I can see these ones well enough to work with them.”
“I take requests,” Terenei said brightly. “Seriously, tell me what you want and let me look through what you have so I can get a good sense of what you need, and I can probably create those missing cards for you. If you want them, probably others do, too. It can’t be that hard to request the temptes for the frames.”
Just how many artists, I wondered, were creating and releasing more cards, ones that storytellers found useful? Three different cards that all had the same text would have three different images, and those images might influence the way a storyteller chose to interpret it in that particur instance, so it wasn’t like there was any need to worry about duplication. How often did the stories that resulted give all kinds of creative types inspiration for what to write or dance or make or draw? And, as usual, there was no editorial board. Any artist just added whatever they chose, and storytellers, or whoever, picked the ones useful to them personally.
“I might take you up on that. But for the moment...”
“Oh, yes, definitely,” Terenei said. “Please.”
I set the cards in their pces and leaned back on the couch.
Live performance always beat recorded here, even if the recorded ones could be eborate pys with multiple actors and sound effects and so on rather than a single voice. It still surprised me a bit how much they loved performances that were audio-only, but then, podcasts and audiobooks were popur at home, right? And it was easy to just close my eyes, my hands pying with my begleri while Terenei leaned against me contentedly, and visualize what Heket was describing in that rhythmic semi-alliterative cadence, softer and louder, voice smooth and versatile as a musical instrument. No one would never hear the same story again, a thing that struck me as tragic, but then, the next performance would also be tailored to the audience and the moment, and the one after that. Being ephemeral didn’t make it less real and special here and now.
Around stories, we had multiple games built into the table, and lots to listen to, and people to talk to. Zanshe took over the kitchen to make a proper hot meal; Terenei and Heket curled up on the couch to talk about art, and Aryennos tucked himself into Terenei’s favourite hanging chair again with his journal and that other book I’d seen when telling them about games.
Now and then I checked my HUD, which was still fuzzy but getting better. When it finally looked more or less normal, I switched to centaur form and did a Diagnosis on myself. The Softcure was still working on my lingering concussion and kidney injuries and bruising. The more recent Quickheal was still active, as well, backing it up. I considered giving myself an extra Softcure, but more is not always better, and I decided against it. I did give myself a Quickheal boost and added an extra bit of Anodyne because why would I not when I could?
That done, I switched back to human. This house really wasn’t meant for a centaur, and besides, a sweater would only cover my human part.
“Go talk,” Zanshe told me and Serru. “You look steady enough now to handle the stairs. I think the rest of us can stay busy down here to give you whatever privacy we can manage, when everything is technically open. I think you both need it.”
“You do,” Terenei said. “And we will.”
Aryennos and Heket seconded that.
Serru inclined her head, and shooed me up the stairs ahead of her. “It’s easier to keep track of how your bance is if I’m behind you.”
“I’m a lot better. And improving by the moment.”
“Good, but humour me.”
We settled down in the bedroom, with the blue curtain drawn to create at least some illusion that we were alone, but the room’s lumina stones were bright.
“It would have been incredibly wonderful to see you at all,” I said. “Let alone showing up to rescue me from wandering around lost and injured in a cave being followed by a zombie. Your timing is amazing. Although from the sounds of it, you move really fast when you’re motivated.”
“If you know what you’re doing, and you don’t care about being comfortable or rexed, yes, it’s possible to travel quite rapidly even without your own ornithians. I was not feeling patient enough to deal with coach schedules. It would have meant taking longer to catch up with you. Every extra cycle was too much.”
“You’re a little frightening when you’re determined and focused. I’m really gd you’re on my side.”
She ughed, then sobered. “Terenei told me that the Moss Queen did not cim a single person from the festival, and the ones she sent in to spread the infection were all freed. Thank you. For that and the chance to tell her what I think of her and making the choice you did. I know that was hard.”
“Hard doesn’t even come close. You were right, I didn’t get it. Death is just too different, all the things it implies and means and how people feel about it. I was... really a mess, thinking that you could be gone because of me. Because I liked the festival and wanted to stay but that made me easy for her to find.” I sighed. “I guess it doesn’t matter what I do. Zombie Boy found me too, and we weren’t even on the ring road.”
She id a hand over mine. “I could have rushed us on. I was enjoying watching how much you were enjoying everything around you. It’s been very clear from what you’ve said that you take very little time for yourself, despite not knowing how much time you’ll have. It was good to see. And no, it doesn’t matter what you do. Those two will do whatever they choose to do. They both clearly have some abilities that allow them to find individuals, although presumably they work differently. There is no way to stop them. Only to stay alert, and it’s impossible to stay on high alert all the time. It’s exhausting. Believe me, I tried for a while.”
“That knife was intended for me.”
“I know. But we don’t know what would happen if you died. At best, if it was the normal way here, we’d have lost you for a cycle and needed to find each other again, and everyone at the festival would have been lost. I would have preferred different choices for both of us. There weren’t any. I just had to trust that you’d protect me from the worst outcome. And I was right. I don’t know whether he could have found you if I’d been with you. It wouldn’t have been at the same location, but possibly he could have found a way.”
“I’m not sure that was pnned at all. I think it might have been opportunistic.”
She nodded. “Then something else might have happened. It might not have led to morning star crystals, but it might also have meant less pain for you. I don’t know. What might have happened is always difficult.”
“Yeah. But it’s hard not to think about it. Things happened. We’ve got what we’ve got. Which is being snowed in, a slightly-battered but rapidly-recovering newcomer, five tired but amazingly loyal friends who wouldn’t give up, and a cute cat.”
“That isn’t so bad.”
“I’m good with it.”
A brief pause, and she sighed, shifting closer to rest her head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arm around her. “I was afraid for you. I’ve heard more about your world than anyone, and I know death is complicated. I knew Zanshe could keep you as safe in the Highnds as I could, and I knew you weren’t alone. But I’ve heard, a time or two, about what using Elixirs repeatedly can do to the mind and body, and multiple Refresh could only make it worse. That combined with a situation that would be an emotional shock... I didn’t think any of that could go in good directions. I told Zanshe what I could, I was hoping she could meet up with you quickly, and hoped Terenei could manage until then, but still...”
“I had a bad couple of days. When I was even conscious. Did Terenei tell you what helped me get it into perspective?”
“No.”
I told her about my gifts at the festival, including my new pyer; none of that surprised her. The guitar did, but only mildly; then again, she’d seen two earlier unique rewards and had a personal message. And I told her about the songs I’d found, the sad and angry and grieving ones.
“That’s more the kind of emotion I’d associate with death,” I said. “Not freedom. Although there were moments in those caves I considered taking a chance on that. I really, deeply, fervently hope that once I feel a bit more like I can concentrate enough, and I do that alchemy upgrade, I’m going to find that I have a formu that will mean less reason to write songs like that. I don’t want anyone to need songs like that.”
“If healers know what to do, to make certain that they can unmake zombies and mosslings, the need will start to drop no matter what happens with the potion. And there are a lot of clever alchemists out there. Knowing the right combination, they can start experimenting with how to make it work. You’ve already done something amazing.”
“I don’t want to go home and wonder forever whether any of you had more encounters with those two. I want you safer. Not watching behind you all the time while you’re travelling from Coppersands to Whalesong Landing to Brightridge to... wherever it is you stop in the Grassnds and the Forest when you’re alone. Zanshe to Terenei’s a long arc.”
“Kesseli’s a farmer on the Grassnds. I’d left her farm the day before I met you. You’re right, though, the stretch between Kesseli and Terenei is long. More than the entire Forest quarter of the loop. I... need to make more friends in the Forest. Or find someone to travel with so I don’t notice how long it is.”
“I think Terenei’s decided that he likes travelling, now that he’s taken the first step and actually started. Did you see his painting of Crystal Pass at sunrise?”
“Not yet.”
If I believed I was here to stay, there were things I would have said.
I hadn’t given up, though. Zombie Boy wasn’t a convincing source, no matter how many times he said there was no way home. There were too many possibilities—he was lying, or there was a price he hadn’t been willing to pay, or something I hadn’t thought of. I wasn’t giving up until I knew for sure.
If I was going home, then I wasn’t saying any of the things that were right there wanting to be said.
Serru stayed quiet, too.
That was okay. We could just be there without talking. It felt good, after being separated so violently.
It felt good just being together.
