Woven Threads

[Benreeder]

Jack looked up from the makeshift table beside his wagon, taking a moment to sharpen the nib of the feather quill he was using. A half-finished letter lay on the rough surface before him, the lines of script beginning to blur under the flickering light of the candle stub nearby. He shook his head and reached into his pack, drawing out a fresh one. Only a handful remained in his pack, and he hoped to find more before the month was out. Or, perhaps he could make some. It was hardly the greatest of his concerns, but it was the one he could do something about.

His gaze roved across the camp, noting the various groupings of folk. There was the Consortium gathered around their wagon, playing Tannas’s game. Zelzor and some of his compatriots were huddled near another fire, playing cards with a passion, betting anything from coppers to trinkets, depending on the night. The gentle whir of Larken’s wings accompanied her as she flew about the camp, her voice bringing either laughter or irritated growls according to her mood. Raine’s lyrical voice rose near the guard post, and Bruzog’s rumbling growl came from a nearby group. Jack watched and drank in the sights around him, the aroma of Roze’s cooking softening the sharp tang of alchemical fumes, hot iron, and charcoal smoke that surrounded his wagon. All were part of the sensory tapestry that made up Meadowmere. And if they failed, all of it would be gone.

He looked over to where Iskra conferred with Kalen and Mu’kon, and his thoughts went to the conversation he’d had with Mu’kon a few days earlier. Had he helped her at all? He thought back to the clumsy imagery he’d tried to use to illustrate how the past fed the future to explain how her past teaching might have been flawed, not by its nature, but by those who had used it to mislead her.

“Knowledge is never truly lost,” he repeated, hoping his friend had taken the comfort he had meant to give. She had told him she felt lost, but to his eyes, she was ever guided by her own unwavering moral compass. Lost hardly described her. Blazing a trail of her own seemed more accurate, and that, he felt, was the real source of her discomfort. There were no philosophical maps for the places Mu’kon or any of them were going. And that was the most frightening part of it all.

The Guardian’s people were being misled, and now they made common cause. So much so that she had not protested when they had diverted to Duchy Illychnyaev to try to liberate Kelora. The thought of that decision made Jack smile. Drandor had found Kelora’s seeing stone and the restored amulet she’d given to Enigma on the body of one of the Beastfolk who had tried to take the artifact they’d helped Pavo recover. Poet’s ability to speak with the dead revealed she had found it in Illychnyaev. Meanwhile, an encoded letter from Kelora had arrived, revealing her plight as well. There had been no debate, no argument. One of their own was in trouble and asked for aid.

Meadowmere, as always, answered the call.

Jack felt a moment of pity for whoever held Kelora. Illychnyaev was about to get a visit from Meadowmere to bring back one of their own.

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