Fall
Chapter 53

Piper

Piper teetered on the roots of the mangrove trees, staring across a shallow moat that was clearly manmade. Its perfect bend to curl around the island in the center was a deliberate boundary, as certain as a picket fence.

The house on the island was less convinced of its origins. Vitrum vines, flowers, and—dare she call them—weeds had a firm hold on the log cabin. Glass grew through the two windows, and pooled at its base to mingle with its brethren. The house looked as if it were crying.

“Looks abandoned,” Finch said softly.

Piper would have believed the same, had Reine not been feeding her a constant stream of very recent scents. “I think someone’s here. Maybe they went out.”

“For a few years, yeah.” Finch dropped down from the mangrove branch as Chip returned to his shoulder. “Good news; we haven’t been followed. Same news; we’re alone.”

“He checked everywhere?” Piper said.

“He did a one-eighty behind us. Nothing to be seen.”

Piper nodded. “Then we check the house.”

“Still think it’s abandoned.” Finch shrugged. “But whatever you say.”

“What if it’s the source for all this?” Piper waved her hand to the swath of vitrum around them.

“Looks to me like the vitrum took over the house, and the people moved. I think we’d find, I don’t know, something more… glassy than this, if it were the source.” Finch jumped into the moat, and splashed across.

Piper was glad to find this water was much cleaner than the one by the bridge highway. The slime and grime accumulated through their trek lifted from her boots and floated away in rings.

Reine lowered into the shallow water until only her face was above it. I don’t think this will remove all the filth. It’s still murky water.

At least we won’t look completely like vagabonds, Piper said. She splashed some water onto her hair, trying to get the dirt out.

We’ll just smell like one. Reine came to her full height, and stalked to the opposite bank. With her fur plastered to her skin, she appeared much smaller. Piper was reminded that, despite the voice in her mind, her fera was petite compared to other big cats.

Anyone can be a muscled brute. It’s wit that makes or breaks them. Mind over matter, Reine snapped. She shook water onto Finch.

“Hey!” He gave a pointed look to Piper. Chip was fluffing out his feathers on a nearby branch, clearly peeved.

Piper laughed, and made the rest of the way across. She watched the house with a touch of wariness. It seemed deserted, as Finch noted, but also alive. It held a rustic warmth that couldn’t exist in something forgotten.

She came closer, testing the door—which was locked—and peered inside the broken windows. Benches and overturned tables laid between shadows. Her silhouette covered a painted teapot. A fox and dove were curled on its sides.

“Hey,” Finch called her over. “Is this a door?”

His boot had caught on a handle designed to look like a root. The ruse would have worked, had not the paint chipped away to reveal its silver iron. He tugged, and the outline of a large square was shifted through the soil. They moved back, and pulled it open together.

It was a cellar. A yawning mouth with a jagged tongue… leading down.

Finch lifted the door higher. “No handle on the inside. If this thing shuts, there’s no telling if we’ll get out easily.”

“We could prop it up on a root?” Piper suggested.

“And Life help us if it snaps. No.” Finch crossed his arms. “I’ll stay up here if you’re going in there.”

Are you afraid of the cellar? Reine teased.

Piper decided not to repeat that. He makes sense.

Reine huffed as she went down the first few steps. Cowardice covered by chivalry. Bah!

The walls were damp and fuzzy with moss. Water splashed under Piper’s boots and rippled under Reine’s paws. She counted down eleven steps when the light behind them wavered.

Piper looked up. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Finch coughed. “Chip thought he saw something.”

At the twentieth step, the sunlight was so dim Piper had to close her eyes and rely on her fera. How far does this go?

To the center of the earth, Reine mused.

Piper didn’t like that thought. Well there’s nothing important down here so far. Maybe it’s just an old food storage.

Or a dungeon. Skeletons would be a nice touch.

What? Piper balked.

Reine sniffed the slanted walls. Nothing’s been down here in a long time. Or the vitrum has swallowed the scent if it’s not recent enough.

Piper recoiled as she kicked a stone and sent it clicking down the abyss. The light behind them shifted again.

“Piper—“ Finch yelled.

She looked up just as his silhouette was tackled by a large shadow, and the cellar door slammed shut.

Atlas

Atlas paced the length of his tent twice in the appearance of patience before flipping the door open.

Hudson turned his head towards the movement. Still not here.

We don’t need an official escort for dinner, we’re too informal right now with traveling. He sighed. Who has a banquet in the middle of the wilderness?

It’s not the wilderness to them, I assume, Hudson said.

Atlas shuffled the sand under his feet. I’m going to see Milla and Skye. See if they know what this wait is about. It’s suspicious.

I don’t think it’s suspicious at all, Hudson rumbled, but followed him anyway.

It took only a few minutes for them to find Milla and Skye’s tent. A small blue flag perched on their dwelling like a cake topper. Atlas had one on his tent as well.

He stood outside their room, trying to recall the proper etiquette if knocking on the door would rip it open. He turned to June, standing beside the tent. “Hi.”

Milla’s voice echoed from inside. “Come in, Atlas.”

Leaving Hudson outside, Atlas entered and was surprised to find his feet cushioned by a circular, coiling rug. He looked up to find Milla settled on a plush folding chair, and a barrel table like the one used for the great Southern meeting covered in dainty appetizers. A candle even burned at the center of it all.

“I’m pretty sure we didn’t have octopus in our rations,” Atlas said.

“The South gave us these!” Skye said excitedly. She gnawed more of the dark bread fisted in her hand.

“I got a rolled-up pallet for my bed, and a tent.” He crossed him arms.

Milla smiled. “Don’t be upset, what’s ours is yours.”

Can I have some? Hudson thought.

Atlas started forming a hill of dried meats on his plate. “Why do you think they’re having a banquet?”

“Chestic decisions and announcements tend to revolve around grand meals. Perhaps they’re prepping for something of that degree.”

That sounded about as appealing as sand soup. Atlas finished compiling his dish, and shoved it outside for Hudson. “I see. Should we be worried?”

“On the contrary. This could be good news.” She pulled her silver hair into a tighter tail. “That should be the messenger now.”

Atlas closed his eyes to see through Hudson just as a girl with a dog came to a stop at their tent. She cleared her throat, and spoke in clear Chestic. “Ambassadors?”

“Coming,” Milla replied. She motioned for Skye to rise, and scramble out the door. Atlas followed.

If the messenger was surprised to greet three ambassadors when only two were supposed to appear from the tent, she didn’t show it. “Are you ready for dinner?” When she was given the affirmative, the messenger led them to the clearing at the center of the camp.

A bonfire was roaring, trying to devour the headless and limbless sand cow skewered on the spit. Cooks fretted over it, throwing herbs and rubbing oils on the meat with gloved hands.

Hudson’s interest piqued. When will that be ready?

You have a stomach for a brain. Don’t you remember the meat I just gave you? Atlas thought.

Hudson chuckled. That was a small first course.

They went past the spit to a herd of barrel tables. Closest to the fire was a group of well-dressed Chestic. Seventeen of them, to be exact.

Atlas’s eyes flitted to Milla, who met them. The wrinkles around her face tightened.

Thorn, thankfully, was the first to see them. “Friends, please have a seat.”

They took their places at the barrel tables. With the rest of the leaders in a semicircle around them, Atlas had a strange sense of foreboding. It felt like a trial.

“Is there something wrong, friends?” Milla said. Her words were soft, but her expression was calculating. She was testing the waters.

“There is a slight dilemma. We have one member of our party who questions the ethics of this trip.”

“Your tongue is made of silver, Thorn,” the mayor of Picket said. “I am questioning the safety of this trip. My town is my family, my future. We are a day away from leaving the South, and I want to make sure we are not heading into something bigger than all of us.”

This was news to Atlas. They had cut through the Southern desert faster than he could have imagined. Then again, they were traveling with professional natives.

“We are headed to a warzone, I had thought that was clear. You were pledging your help to our cause.” Milla splayed her hand on the table. “There are three territories—the majority of Eden—preparing if not already engaged in battle. We invited the South to assist our standings in this place, in return for access to our ideas and advancements, along with better trade.”

The mayor of Picket was sullen, his features sunk in thought. A dull gray parrot rested on his shoulder. “The East is large. The West is large. And you don’t even have the full of the South.”

“We do have Trene, a secluded nation inside the West,” Atlas said. “With them, our numbers are theoretically equal to our enemy.” He hoped his Chestic came out as formal as he wished.

Milla pet June beside her. “I think as long as we are a working unit, the risk is smaller.”

Thorn nodded. “That is true.”

The mayor of Picket rose. “You haven’t convinced me that this is worth it. Trade is something we can build without the North’s help. Your promised ideas are only in your mind until they’re on paper. Anyone can give these kind of favors. I, for one, do not see my family dying for this.” Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

They watched him walk away, sending ripples of sand in his wake.

And then there were sixteen, Hudson thought.

Atlas clenched his jaw. Why did fear come at the most crucial times? He raked his gaze over their remaining allies.

“Anyone else with Picket?”

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