42. [Red Tide] Heartwood (Patreon)

King Mudt marched his army into Ruchet, where Kayenna Vezz had taken up residence. The sorceress had amassed a small force of her own, but they were badly outnumbered and under orders not to impede the king. The sight of his people in Ruchet pleased King Mudt. All bore the blackbird of Orvesis, which meant all could be killed if they disobeyed.

Vezz occupied a villa that overlooked the glittering ocean. Indeed, the waters of Ruchet did shine in those days, before the Annihilation and the spread of corruption northward, when Ruchet was not yet swamp, and murk, and horrors. The harbor was crowded with ships fleeing Mudt’s arrival. Under Vezz’s control, Ruchet had been a safe haven of sorts. The war felt very far away. And now, the war was over, and Orvesian brutality had no place to go but inward.

 King Mudt wended his way up the villa’s track in the company of his champions Bello and Carver, and his would-be champion Grime. Only one person dared come down to meet them. Mudt roared with laughter at the sight of this scrawny man and his silly mask, but the interloper gave the assassin Bello pause. This man’s mask identified him as a killer born of the wild, an elite guerilla of Besaden, used by the beastlords to target the mages in their squabbles for the forest. It surprised him to see this man marked not with the paw print of Besaden but with a curved dagger and coins.  

“Be careful with this one,” Bello said quietly but, as ever, his king ignored him.

“What are you supposed to be?” King Mudt asked.

“Crying Otter,” said the man whose mask matched his name.

King Mudt wiped his eyes when his laughter again subsided. “And why do you block my way, little man?”

“To warn you against your current course of action. Listen to what your sorceress has to say. She understands this game better than you could ever hope to.”

History has shown that King Mudt was not the sort to listen to counsel. He trusted only those who had fought bravely—and unsuccessfully—against him, and traded their loyalty for mercy. And, even then, it was well known amongst his skittish advisors that King Mudt must be coaxed around to discovering an idea as if it were his own. Thus, with his brazen directness, Crying Otter had little chance of convincing King Mudt of his folly.

“You are lucky the Ink protects you, to speak to me so,” King Mudt told the masked man.

In response, Crying Otter opened his shirt, so that King Mudt could see the new markings of a champion bearing allegiance to a group none yet understood.

“Another warning, then,” said Crying Otter. “When we next meet, I will not speak at all.”

--Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age

Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis

***

--DRAMATIS PERSONAE—

Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, granting wishes

Cuda Bite, Throne Gazer, Salt Wall, and Turtle Jaw, the three champions of the Reef and their Quill, time for some rest and recuperation

Vikael Rambrother and Meera Rootgarde, Shifter of the 11th Renown and Druid of the 7th Renown, Besaden, tour guides of varying enthusiasm

***

The month of Brittlest, 61 AW

Heartwood, the hidden center of Besaden

210 days until the next Granting

After a leisurely journey through the forest of Besaden, the champions of the Reef arrived in the hidden village of Heartwood to find Zayda Everbloom, the Quill of Besaden, absent. They had come all this way to broker a deal with the woman, and she was gone.

“After the last Granting, one of our champions became more beast than man,” Vikael Rambrother explained. He slid a hand through his graying black hair, fingers brushing the horns that curled up from his skull. “Zayda’s gone south to give him the wash and mark our new champion.”

“When will she return?” Turtle Jaw asked, getting the question in before a clearly bristling Throne Gazer could speak.

“Soon, soon. She set out immediately after Wish Day,” Vikael said. He spread out his hairy arms. “Until then, consider yourselves honored guests of Heartwood.”

Red Tide stood by silently, taking in the sprawling village. It was certainly smaller than some of the land-walker cities she had glimpsed along the coasts, but perhaps more impressive despite its smaller scope. Heartwood wasn't built amongst the trees, it was built from the trees. Great redwoods split open to allow entry into inner chambers. Ridges of bark curled up trunks like spiral staircases, leading to rooms formed where branches braided together. Roots butted up from the dirt in a grid, creating thoroughfares that the Besadenizens organized themselves around. The architecture itself swelled with the wild of nature, yet there was a rigorous order to it all, the guiding hands of the arborists clear.

“The trees remember,” Meera told Red Tide when she caught the enchantress staring up at the network of branches, the lofted platforms and draping curls of leaves for privacy.

“What's that mean?” Red Tide asked. 

“Twice in my lifetime, we've moved Heartwood,” Meera explained. “These trees unwind themselves as if we were never here. Elsewhere, other trees bend and contort to the will of our arborists. The blessing of the ge’gala follow wherever we go.”

At the center of town, they passed by a statue shaped from wood. A tiger slept easily, draped across the branch of a tree. Vivid splashes of red and yellow leaves gave the animal color, the wind shifting the leaves in a way that made the tiger look as if it were breathing. The united gods of Besaden—ge’besa and ge’gala—beast and nature. Both owed allegiance to the paw print.

“Why you telling me this?” Red Tide asked Meera.

Meera rolled her shoulders. “Saw the look on your face, coral tender. Thought you might find it interesting.”

“I've told you, my Ink don't make me a coral tender,” Red Tide said.

Meera shrugged again and moved on, leaving Red Tide to wonder what look the arborist had seen upon her face. She had been thinking about the Reef—the oca'em had insinuated themselves into the vast coral, made themselves its keepers and protectors, and formed a stronghold from the porous chambers. At its strongest, the Reef had been a great wall upon the sea, and no ship passed without the leave of the oca’em. And then—because of the wishes of the merchants and the failures of the oca'em—the Reef had been eaten away, shriveled to merely a fraction of its former glory. Would things have been different for her people if they could have hidden themselves away and gathered their strength, instead of throwing themselves against the land-walkers for decades? The ge’oca were cold and proud gods—but even the tides receded before smashing upon the land again.

As Red Tide explored the town in those first days, she learned there were a couple thousand Besadenizens living in Heartwood at any one time. Red Tide caught some stares from the locals, but they were mostly of curiosity and not the superstitious hostility of the coastal land-walkers. The Besadenizens came and went as they pleased, ranging in smaller groups throughout the sprawling woods where there were other hidden sanctuaries. All of them moved at the same languorous pace as the escort who had brought them in. They tended the animals, or farmed the groves, or got drunk and napped.

An easy life, Red Tide thought, and yet these people were far from soft. She witnessed no shortage of drunken disputes settled through violence—although, unlike the oca’em, the Besadenizens stopped short of murdering their rivals. They honored no currency in the Heartwood; everyone was expected to contribute in their way. The lazy, the treacherous, the greedy—they found themselves driven violently into the woods where they would learn to live from the land, one way or another.

“They don’t eat meat here,” Salt Wall complained. “How long do we have to stay?”

The champions found themselves settled into a great tree all of their own, the branches shaped into five rooms partitioned by tangles of ivy. Although many of Heartwood’s residences climbed high into the trees, the Reef’s quarters were low to the ground, which Red Tide found herself grateful for.

“I requested this space special for you,” Vikael said excitedly. “Come, see.”

From their tree’s common area, Vikael led them down a pitched staircase of roots that descended into the ground, terminating at a steep drop accessible by a ladder of vines. Grinning stupidly, Vikael leapt over the edge, his arms wrapped around his knees. Red Tide’s heart soared at the ensuing splash.

Water. Water, at last.

An underground spring ran beneath their tree, lit by lumloe plants that lined the walls. Red Tide didn’t hesitate to strip down and dive in, making the fin at last after so many weeks of travel on her feet. Cuda Bite came with her, then the others, all except for Throne Gazer who appeared intent on maintaining some kind of clothed land-walker dignity in front of an audience of no one, as if Besaden’s Quill might manifest at any moment to begin negotiations.   

The water lacked salt, but it was crisply cold and ran deep and dark, spreading in vast chambers beneath Heartwood. Roots crept down from the ceiling, dipping into the water to take their sustenance. Red Tide and Cuda Bite soon found themselves pulling Vikael toward one of those drooping roots; the man was a blundering swimmer and weighed down badly by his horns.

“My rescuers!” Vikael yelled as he clamored out of the water.

“Idiot!” Meera shouted from above. “You embarrass yourself!”

Red Tide and Cuda Bite left the others to their typical squabbling, submerging themselves. Cuda Bite spun under the water, singing a song of liberation. Red Tide floated with him, basking in the joy of his song, and the water against her skin.

They had weeks to wait for the Quill of Besaden to return, and little to do in the meantime.

And so, Red Tide decided to take Cuda Bite for a lover.

***

As Red Tide expected, the skulker was enthusiastic and eager-to-please. They spent most nights together, except ones when Red Tide was too tired from singing for the Besadenizens, or when Cuda Bite came back too drunk and in a grim mood after losing at dice. She always came to his room—no different than her own, walls of wood and a soft bed and ivy for curtains—but she could leave when she wished.

“Do not misunderstand this,” she snapped at him one night as they laid together afterward, her cheek against his chest. Cuda Bite’s fingers were in her braids, stroking and soothing in a way that made Red Tide feel suddenly too close.

“I understand perfectly, Red,” he replied. “You want us to run away together and start a pod of our own.”

She dug her chin into his ribs until he wormed away. “You will be dead before that happens.”

“We both will be.”

Red Tide sat up, studying him, the patch of white over her eye more visible than the rest of her in the near dark. She remembered a conversation they’d had on one of their first nights of freedom after Turtle Jaw sprung them from the Grotto, back when neither of them really understood what they’d gotten themselves into.

“You could still escape, like you wanted,” Red Tide said. “Vikael likes us. He would show you the way. It might be days before the others noticed you were gone and what then? You think Turtle Jaw or Throne Gazer would chase after you? You could get washed and disappear.”

Cuda Bite rested his palm against the Ink that covered his chest. “Throne Gazer’s promised me a good life after this. All the riches of a restored Reef, right at my fingertips. How could I turn that down?”

Red Tide pressed her lips together. She’d suspected Throne Gazer had made an offer like that when the two of them had gone off together to hunt Ink.

“Is that why you stay?” she asked.

“It’s one of the reasons.”

“What are the others?”

Cuda Bite looked away from her. “I’m afraid, if I say, that you’ll think I’ve gone romantic and we won’t get to fuck anymore.”

She snorted. “You live a risky life.”

“I stay, because, crazy as it seems, I think you might actually get us through this,” Cuda Bite said. “I think we could win. And if not?” He stretched and cupped his hands behind his head. “Worse ways for a man to spend his last year of life, I’ll tell you that.”

That night, Red Tide stayed until Cuda Bite had fallen into a deep sleep, snoring contentedly. Then, she placed a piece of coral on his chest, over the symbol he’d acquired after their battle with the Coralline Elite. [Dark Reflex] it was called. The rune would save Cuda Bite from a deadly injury—she’d seen it work once, turning Cuda Bite’s body into mist to evade Salt Wall’s hook.

Red Tide used [Coral Tender]. She shaped the coral to match the rune exactly, mirroring the delicate lines of the ge’ema’s arcane symbology. She was careful and patient. Sylvie Aracia—annoying little bitch from Penchenne—had told her that any mistakes would be disastrous.

When she’d finished, Red Tide held up a perfect stencil of Cuda Bite’s rune. She could practice it now. Learn to draw it. And, when the Granting demanded it, Red Tide could use her small supply of Liar’s Ink to give herself—or one of the others—a second chance at survival.

It was peaceful in Besaden. Easy. But Red Tide had not yet been infected by Cuda Bite’s optimism. They would need every advantage they could scrape together. Killers would be waiting for them on the island.

Unbeknownst to Red Tide, one of those killers drew nearer with every passing day.