Florette II: The Visitor

Villechart had no sentries at its edge, simply a wooden fence stretching across the breadth of the gap between the mountains, a snow-covered gate hanging open in the center.

Are they idiots?

How could anyone live so deep in the territory of the geckos without properly securing the borders of their village? It was madness. Caravans of coal were common targets for their attacks, but the village mines would surely be a far more tempting prize. All the more so if they were this lightly defended.

Florette’s home, Enquin, surrounded itself on all sides with stone walls even taller than she was, and someone was always present at the gate to barricade it and sound the alarm. None but the largest and oldest of the creatures could weaken the stone enough to breach the village, and few had even tried.

At least entering the village meant leaving that damnable gecko behind. If it set a toe inside, the villagers would be sure to come forth to drive it out in a matter of minutes. Even if they were surprisingly lax with their defenses. Florette looked back to shoot it one last glare, sending it skittering off into the hillsides.

Fernan had said it was to be a guide for him, as if the creature that had burned his face and dragged him into that horrific contract deserved anything but swift justice. Fernan had even waved it goodbye as they reached the village! Pure insanity. It knew to keep its distance from Florette though, hanging back from them by a good few yards the entire way up the mountain.

A shiver seemed to come over him as they crossed the threshold to enter the village, a collection of wooden houses built against the sides of the mountains, piles of snow melting on the ground beside their sloped roofs. The sun had yet to crest the mountains, but the dim light of dawn had begun to tint the sky purple.

“Are you alright?” she whispered, placing a hand on Fernan’s shoulder.

He snorted. “No, obviously.” He tilted his head up to the sky. “Would you be?”

“I guess not.” Florette frowned. “It’s not all bad, though. You’re a spirit sage now.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “You have the power to change things now. Don’t waste it by moping.”

He stared into her eyes with a look of pure bewilderment. “Change things? It’s going to be hard enough to stop things from getting worse. How am I supposed to convince my entire village to move? And to where? Any place far enough to honor the spirit of the deal and leave the geckos the food they need would require a new charter, new veins to mine, or an entire new livelihood for everyone.”

Florette pulled out her notebook to glance over the sketchy lines from her graphite stylus showing the exact wording Fernan had recited to her. “But we went over the deal you made.” The books were rife with tales of deals with spirits gone wrong, exploiting the truth to claim the hubristic sage’s soul when they failed. It was not going to happen to Fernan, no matter what. “Technically all you agreed to do is invite them into the village. You could scoot everyone thirty yards away without forfeiting your soul. Invite Gézarde into the old site and laugh at him from behind your walls.”

“At which point he assaults the new village with my head first on the chopping block. Don’t you think he thought of that? Anything close enough to let us keep mining leaves us right in the line of fire.” Fernan clenched his fists. “Whatever is stopping him from getting in now, he wouldn’t have agreed to the deal if it applied to a new village.”

“He said that?”

Fernan sighed. “No. But he needs an invitation to enter. Nothing else makes sense. This is an ancient, powerful spirit. This was his plan, Florette. I can’t gamble that he’d make such an obvious mistake.”

“I don’t know. It might be a way to get everything you want. Gézarde didn’t sound like he was all that smart about the deals he made really, not from what you told me. Didn’t he mention getting tricked in the past?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure if I remember that part correctly, especially not when taking the coal explains his hatred of us perfectly well. I’m certainly not willing to bet everyone’s lives on it.”

“Hmmm.” Florette considered the problem for a moment. “Well, what’s keeping him out of here right now? Probably something your alderman did, right? The spirit sage of the sun?”

Fernan nodded. “That’s why we’re going to see him first. If he can recreate the protections elsewhere, we might be able to settle elsewhere in the mountains and start mining again. I may not like the idea of double-crossing the geckos, but if it’s the only option, it’s worth knowing whether we can even do it. Even that would be better than everyone dying.”

Double-crossing. Florette rolled her eyes at the thought as they made their way across the main square of the village.

“Lend me your scarf,” Fernan muttered as they got closer.

“What?” She unwrapped it from her neck and passed it to him. “Why?”

He tied it around his eyes like a blindfold. “I’d rather not draw attention yet.”

“You’re going to have to eventually. From walking around with that on your face, if nothing else.”

“Maybe…” He took a deep breath. “Still, just… Don’t bring it up before I do, alright?”

“Suit yourself.” Florette shrugged.

Alderman Jerome’s house was the largest in the village, at the far end of the square. Unlike the others around it, the house had a second story, a balcony jutting out from it on some kind of diagonal supports. The roof was flatter too, a brazier burning green flame at the top of it. The snow on the ground also stopped abruptly a short distance away from the house, as if someone had cleared it away. Perhaps a result of the spirit sage’s power?

Enquin had none of its own, so it was difficult to say. But the sages of legend, high lords and ladies, had been capable of grand feats far beyond the bounds of human achievement, so warming one house seemed reasonable enough by comparison. Still, it was strange to witness it in person, especially knowing that Fernan might one day be capable of doing the same thing.

A middle-aged man opened the door before they had a chance to knock. Slightly fat, with a bushy brown beard, the alderman held out his arms warmly. “Fernan! It’s good to see you back. I have to admit, your mother was a bit worried when you didn’t come back yesterday. I told her you were probably just taking an extra day at the First Post to talk to the traders. No harm in the wagons leaving a couple days late.”

Fernan’s eyebrows slanted downward. “I never take extra time for things like that. I’m always right back up the next day.”

“Of course you are! And you put that thing on your face for a reason entirely different from sneaking back in late and hoping no one would notice you.” Jerome chuckled. “Don’t worry; I was young once too. No need to tell your mother what you were up to.” He smiled and shot Florette a wink, sending a shiver of revulsion through her.

Ugh. “Actually, we have something rather important to discuss with you.” She met his eyes. “In private.”

“Ah, of course.” Jerome nodded. “Come in, come in. Please, it’s cold out there. In fact, I’m a bit worried it’s going to snow again this morning. It may have been too early to declare it spring, after all.”

“You think so?” asked Fernan as they entered the house, the faint scent of smoke filling the air. “Everything’s pretty well melted further down. In the pass, it wasn’t even cold.”

Jerome shrugged. “It’s always colder up here, but the winters have been shorter lately. Hard to say. But I’m sure I can clear the road far enough for the wagons to make it. How was the bridge? Do you think it will hold?”

Fernan nodded. “I think so, but it couldn’t hurt to shore it up a bit first. It held my weight just fine, but a whole caravan is a bit different. Really, I think the best thing is––”

“Fernan!” Florette jabbed him with her elbow. “Don’t we have something more important to be talking about?”

He shot her a glare, the flame in his eyes momentarily flashing bright enough to show through the scarf. What’s his problem? But the moment passed, and he nodded with a weary resignation. “You should probably sit down.”

As Jerome waved them over to chairs by a roaring fireplace, Fernan began to recount everything that had happened. Florette kept silent, watching the alderman’s face while the warmth of the fire soaked through her.

“That is truly awful.” Jerome’s face had lost all warmth by the end. “Would you mind removing that from your face? I might be able to do something about the burns.”

Fernan hesitated. “I couldn’t even tell you how bad it is. I tried to look into a stream on the way up, before I realized that wouldn’t help me see anything anymore.”

“It’s not that bad,” Florette lied. “And once it heals, you’ll have a great scar to show people. You fought a gecko and made it out with your life! It’s super impressive.”

“You fought her.” Fernan unwrapped the scarf and exposed his face. “All I did was get burned. And blinded.”

“Not true!” She snatched her scarf back out of his hands. “You talked your way out of an evil spirit’s den! If anything, that’s more impressive!” She slapped him on the back. “Take some pride in what you just went through. It’s a tale fit for a hero.”

He only narrowed his eyes at her, the flame behind them condensing to an intense green point.

“I think I can help with the facial burns,” the alderman noted after a few minutes studying the injuries. “I’m afraid your eyes are another matter. Other than the spiritual flame, there’s almost nothing left to heal.”

“I figured as much,” Fernan muttered.

“If you’ll step outside with me, I think we have a few goats I can sacrifice for the necessary power. And then we should really see your mother. She ought to know right away, but I’d sooner spare her the sight of your injuries before I can work on them.”

“Later.” The fire in his eyes blazed brighter. “We can deal with all of that in a minute. Right now we need a plan to evacuate the village.”

Jerome’s eyes widened. “Fernan, you’ve just been through something horrific. Take some time to rest before committing yourself to a problem like that. We have time.”

“No we don’t!” he shouted. “The entire village is depending on me right now. Gézarde said I only had five moons, until the summer solstice––” He banged the back of his head against the wall with a loud crack. “That bastard. The solstice is sooner than that, and that’s the one he mentioned in the proper oath.”

“Four moons is still enough time for you to take a minute now, Fernan.” Jerome set his hand on his shoulder. “You need time to get your bearings.”

“Nah.” Florette leaned back in her chair, arms folded. “If Fernan wants to do it now, then do it now. It’s your village he’s trying to save; what do you care if he wants to start right away?”

“Thank you.” Fernan cracked the slightest of smiles. “Ideally I’d like to move far enough that we’re not competing with the geckos for coal. They can get what they need to eat, while we get what we need to trade. No one feels slighted, or cheated.”

“That’s not the only option though,” Florette added. “The exact wording of the oath only requires that your village is vacated. As long as no one’s in danger when Fernan invites them into the site, you could technically move it anywhere, even somewhere close enough to mine the same veins.”

“That’s brilliant.” The alderman grinned. “You’re thinking like a spirit sage, Florette. But we would need a way to defend the town once Gézarde realizes he’s been tricked. The wards protecting Villechart draw their power from an old spirit sundial whose power has seeped deeply into the ground. Its power is initially weak, but it’s been built up over many decades. I couldn’t move it without leaving us vulnerable for years.”

“Well, is there anything that could do the job quickly?” Florette asked.

“A new sundial, with an appropriate investment of power.” Jerome scratched his chin. “I don’t think I’d be able to get it ready in time, though. My share of Soleil’s power is relatively weak, since I’m only a low level member of the Sun Temple. What you’d really want is an artifact filled up with spirit energy by one of the more powerful priests in Guerron.”

Guerron! It felt like fate, with the Festival of the Sun so close. “I’ll go with him to get it! You will be able to make it work if we get one, right?”

“Definitely. I think that’s our best solution.” Jerome clasped his hands together. “If you’re going to Guerron, you could get a new charter for the town as well. That’s less life-or-death, but it couldn’t hurt to have everything above board.”

“What about the geckos?” Fernan asked quietly. “This was their home, the coal their food. We’re the interlopers. I don’t like it, but wouldn’t it be better to find a way to please everything?”

“What about them?” Jerome raised an eyebrow. “If any of them truly have a measure of intelligence, then they’re even more evil than we suspected. A beast can wound in wrath or hunger, but to war on innocent villagers after cold calculus is another thing entirely.”

“This is your best option, Fernan.” Florette gave him another pat on the back. “If Gézarde wanted to come to the negotiating table and work something out fairly, he had that choice. Instead, he kidnapped you and forced you into a one-sided deal putting everyone at risk of annihilation.”

“I know that…”

“This is only fair, considering the circumstances,” Jerome added. “Gézarde has not earned good faith.”

“It’s not about Gézarde though. He’s the one ordering them around, but he’s not the one starving. What am I supposed to tell Mara?”

Florette blinked. “Nothing, obviously. If you tell her, she might go running back to warn him and scuttle the whole project. Say you’re going to Guerron to get a town charter, or something like that. Or just leave her behind.” The latter would be safer, but Florette did understand the impulse to master his new sight. As abhorrent as Mara was, it was probably worth getting that expertise out of her while she was there.

“I don’t…” Fernan sighed. “You’re right. We need to get out from under this threat before any of the real work can begin. But I’m going to see about other livelihoods. Once the new village is established, we can start to transition slowly away from the mines.”

“If that’s what you want to do.” Jerome frowned. “Either way, we’re not working with much time. I think you should leave by the end of the week.”

“We’ll go tomorrow,” Fernan said flatly. “I’d like to see my mother, now.”

“Let me heal your face, first.” Jerome stood up, groaning slightly as he did. “Fernan, please make yourself at home. I’ll call you out once I’m done with the sacrifice and we can begin. Florette is welcome to stay as well.”

I certainly feel welcome, as an afterthought like that. “I think I’ll go for a walk, actually. I’ll see all of you later.”

Fernan raised an eyebrow as she began putting her boots back on, but didn’t object.

The sun was all the way up as she exited, casting its light down on the main square, though dark clouds from the west threatened to cover it.

After walking all night, she wanted nothing more than to collapse, but something about the alderman made her uncomfortable. It might have been his insinuations about her and Fernan, but it felt like more than that. Better to give people like that a wide berth.

At least now they had a goal. A quest, like the Great Binder’s legendary mission to seal away the dark spirit Khali, lest darkness consume the world. Or the first Fox Queen, who’d dreamed of uniting the continent and had brought all of it under the dominion of the Renarts. Although neither of those had really ended that well, had they?

The Fox Queen’s heirs had warred and split her great empire apart before it could last even two generations. And before she was sealed into the other world, Khali had cursed the world with an implacable heat, until eternal summer dried up all of the water and humanity perished. Although if that were ever going to happen, it seemed like it wouldn’t be for a long while. Khali had been sealed over a hundred years ago, and her curse was beginning to look a bit like an empty threat.

But plenty of people did accomplish what they wanted to, in the books: the Queen of the Exiles establishing her city and protecting it from all comers; Robin Verrou’s famous theft of the Seaward Folly from the heart of Avalon without ever being caught… This didn’t necessarily feel as important, but every adventurer had to start somewhere.

It’s not really your quest though, is it? No, all of it belonged to Fernan. He had withstood Mara’s attack, he had negotiated with the spirit, and it was his village in danger. She would support him, of course. He needed the help, and it was hard not to feel responsible for letting him get kidnapped like that, but she had every intention of finding her own adventure, hopefully once they reached Guerron.

It felt like a lifetime ago, but nothing about her plan to prove herself in the tournament needed to change. Especially if Fernan were going to be living in the mountains as a sage. Whether or not Enquin found a dedicated sage willing to live there, they could probably pay Fernan to help guard their caravans without the same bitterness that Enquin’s alderman seemed to have against Jerome.

If things went well at the Festival of the Sun, she could finally meet her destiny, and carve her name into the world as a truly unforgettable figure.