44. [Red Tide] Gucco the Hunter (Patreon)

--DRAMATIS PERSONAE—

Red Tide, Enchantress of the 4th Renown, The Reef, about to come face-to-face with the enemy

Cuda Bite, Throne Gazer, Salt Walt, the champions of the Reef, and Turtle Jaw, their Quill

Vikael Rambrother, Meera Rootgarde, Yodor Dominik, Onianatan, champions of Besaden, and Zayda Everbloom, their Quill

Gucco Arovi, Hunter of the 13th Renown, Merchant’s Bay, the enemy

***

27 Brittlest, 61 AW

Heartwood, the hidden center of Besaden

183 days until the next Granting

Face hidden within a hooded tunic, Red Tide watched from a copse of trees as the caravan opened their wagons for business. These were merchants, but they weren't all merchants. Some were Inked with the overflowing coffer of the Bay, that was true, but she saw the pyramid of Infinzel, the scales of Penchenne, and other symbols she didn't recognize. These were small time concerns who had come to peddle the last of their goods before the season changed.

Besaden used no currency, so every transaction needed to be bartered. The Besadenizens showed up armed with jars of honey, barrels of ale, and crates of apples. They seemed to take great pleasure in drawing out these negotiations, much in the same way they never moved through their trees in any rush, and the merchants took this all with patient good humor. Red Tide scowled, picturing trading vessels moored at the Horizdock, and how the sailors hired oca'em to whip their own brothers and sisters should they be caught short of rounds. The oca'em never named their own price. If they had anything truly valuable—most likely recovered from a wreck or filched from some careless ship—it was best to find a sympathetic or suitably desperate land-walker to act as a fence rather than engage the merchants directly.

Yet another way the oca’em were different from these children of ge’besa and ge’gala. Red Tide tasted blood and realized she’d bitten the inside of her cheek.

“Vikael said we should stay out of sight while they’re here.”

Red Tide jumped as Cuda Bite sidled up beside her. The skulker moved on such silent feet.

“I am out of sight,” she replied.

“For now, you are. But you got a look on your face like you're thinking of tossing a lamplighter's nightcap into the whole bunch.”

She showed him her hands. “No bottle. No oil. And it wouldn't do any good.”

“Wouldn't do any good. That should be our motto.” He nibbled a piece of rock candy from a stick, and held it out to her. “Lick?”

She slapped his hand away. “Where'd you get that?”

Cuda Bite lifted his chin toward the caravan wagons.

“Thought we were supposed to stay out of sight,” Red Tide said with a smirk.

“We are.” Cuda Bite activated [Camouflage] and, even though he had been standing right next to her, Red Tide had trouble finding his outline amidst the bark and leaves. At least, until he started talking again. “Using my Ink as the gods intended. To do whatever I want.”

Red Tide snorted. “Did you only come down here to steal?”

“No, I’m supposed to fetch you,” he said. “They’ll be ready for us soon.”

***

During her stay in Besaden, Red Tide had avoided going any higher into the trees than necessary, but the meeting place of Besaden’s champions was way up in the branches of the great redwoods. She and Cuda Bite navigated spirals of steps jutting out from the bark, bridges of intertwined branches, and rising platforms secured by ropes of vine. Eventually, they emerged above the lesser trees, their leaves a sea of orange and yellow beneath their feet.

“We aren’t meant to be this far into the sky,” Red Tide said. Her stomach lurched as she peered over the edge.

The rest of their companions waited on an enclosed platform up ahead. Throne Gazer had taken time to clean himself, tie up his braids, and don his finest suit of ward-weave. Salt Wall, meanwhile, still had dirt on her face from whatever chore she’d been helping with. The berserker leaned against the tree-wall with her thick arms crossed, half-smiling as she watched Turtle Jaw pace in front of the closed door that led inside the tree itself.

“Practicing his speech,” Salt Wall said as Red Tide joined her. Red Tide hadn’t noticed it before, but Turtle Jaw’s lips were moving a bit as he walked in his circles.

“This is it, then? The moment of truth?” Red Tide asked. “I thought some merchant cunt just wanted to get an eyeball’s full.”

“I will explain our position to Zayda today, now, and we’ll have an answer,” Turtle Jaw replied. “If the Bay is here, we shouldn’t be. It’s concerning that they even know we’re here.”

Cuda Bite stepped into Turtle Jaw’s path and put his hands on the Quill’s broad shoulders. “You’re making me dizzy, warden.”

“Perhaps I should do the talking,” Throne Gazer said, eyeing the sheen of sweat on Turtle Jaw’s forehead.

“No,” Turtle Jaw said firmly. “I’ve known this woman for years. I know what she expects to hear.”

“And you talk like a prick,” Salt Wall added.

Red Tide had never given much thought to the years Turtle Jaw spent as Quill. An unglamorous position amongst the oca’em, choosing four prisoners to march off to their deaths every year, not something to envy. And yet, he had seen Armistice, and met Quills from across the world. He’d sat beside the leader of Besaden, the so-called ageless king of Infinzel, the bloodless executive of the Bay, and others who wielded great power. He shared their space as an equal. She imagined it must have gnawed at him, all those years, to see what someone in his position could achieve when he was allowed to do so little.

The door opened and Vikael Rambrother ducked his horns to step outside. Red Tide didn’t like the dark expression on the man’s face.

“Should we even bother with this, Ram?” she asked before Vikael could speak.

He grunted. “Nothing’s been decided.”

Vikael stepped aside to let them enter. The champions of Besaden convened in a wide, octagon-shaped room. The walls of bark were molded into detailed carvings of men and women who Red Tide took to be past champions. The branches curled open overhead and Red Tide took a moment to gaze up at the unobstructed sky—it had been weeks since she’d looked up and hadn’t seen leaves. 

There wasn’t much formality or pomp to the room—a far cry from the Coralline Throne where it seemed like all the scant remaining riches of the Reef flowed to project authority upon the oca’em queen. A semi-circle of benches were sloppily arranged in the center of the room, and some tables along the walls offered food and kegs of beer. Salt Wall immediately went to help herself.

Vikael went to sit with his wife. Meera offered a nod to Red Tide, her face unreadable as usual. The shifter and the druid sat with their bodies angled away from each other, and Red Tide had seen enough of the two to know that meant they’d been arguing—and would likely tear into each other as soon as the meeting was done.

The beastlord Yodor Dominik with his wet, hungry eyes sat upon his own bench. The little man sat with his legs curled under him and Red Tide had the brief urge to push him over. Instead, she turned her attention to the two Besadenizens she hadn’t yet met.

Zayda Everbloom, the long absent Quill of Besaden, rose from her bench as the Reef’s champions entered. She was a wizened woman in her sixties, delicately thin. Long, bent blades of green grass sprouted from her head, shoulders, and the back of her neck, giving Zayda the appearance of wearing a hooded cloak.

“Turtle Jaw,” Zayda said, her voice low and rich. “It is a wonder to see you somewhere other than Armistice.”

Red Tide noticed how Turtle Jaw drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest. Not a bad looking man, Red Tide reminded herself, although this Zayda had never seen the warden swordfight.

“They finally let me loose and I made you my first visit,” Turtle Jaw said.

“Ah, they let you loose, did they?” Zayda said with a soft smile. “So, the lies begin already.”

As the two Quills did their awkward flirting, Red Tide’s gaze was drawn to the final champion of Besaden—the newly installed earth elementalist. Zayda introduced him as Onianatan. Not a Besadenizen name, and not a Besadenizen face. The elementalist was tan-skinned, of average stature, somewhere in his late twenties. His curly hair and stately beard were both cut short and dyed crimson. He bore the paw print of Besaden, but Red Tide doubted he was born here.

“Gen’bi,” Throne Gaze murmured to Red Tide as they sat. “He’s come a long way from the southern deserts.”

“Huh,” Red Tide said. Sylvie Aracia had mentioned the Gen’bi when listing the potential enemies of Merchant’s Bay. Red Tide knew little of the scorched desert and didn’t care to find out more; she could not imagine an environment less hospitable to her kind.

The two sets of champions and their Quills arranged themselves on opposite benches. Only Turtle Jaw remained standing. The champion from Merchant’s Bay was absent, although Red Tide noted a door like the one the Reef delegation had come through on the opposite wall. They were likely storing the bastard back there for now.

“First, we would like to thank you all for the gracious hospitality you’ve extended over these last weeks,” Turtle Jaw began. Red Tide winced at his formal speechifying—he sounded like a land-walker—but she kept her eyes down so as not to let the Besadenizens see her disdain. “We have come to ask the assistance of Besaden at the next Granting. Our two peoples share much in common—a respect for the natural wonders of our world, a stewardship of its creatures, a sense of freedom—and yet, while the people of Besaden flourish, the Reef has suffered endless subjugation. Murdered pointlessly by the fourteen families of Merchant’s Bay, ignored by the Ministry of Sulk, hunted for—”

“May I stop you there, Turtle Jaw?” Zayda interrupted. Red Tide felt a twinge of disappointment. She’d actually been warming up to the warden’s words.

“I…” Turtle Jaw cleared his throat. “I have more to say.”

“I think we are well acquainted with the predicament of the oca’em and have already discussed it at some length,” Zayda said, with a meaningful glance in Vikael’s direction. “You request our protection and, in exchange, you will allow us to extend our studies to the creatures of the sea, including the leviathan you intend to restore with your wish. Does that summarize your proposal?”

Red Tide saw how Yodor wetted his lips at the mention of the leviathan and suppressed a shudder.

Turtle Jaw hesitated. “Well, you skip the parts where I appeal to your moral nature and wisdom.”

The grass blades on Zayda’s back rustled. “Are there morals in nature? I am not so sure.” She waved a thin hand. “You ask Besaden to risk her own champions and her own wish, to spite enemies that we do not share. And, as reward, you make a promise you may not be alive to deliver.”

Turtle Jaw cocked his head. “How’s that?”

“You are a rebel Quill,” Zayda said evenly. “Your queen wishes you dead, and the quill returned to her.”

“Funny, since she gave it to me in the first place.”

“She claims you no longer represent the will of the oca’em. Stealing the quill, abducting these champions—these are provocative actions. A Quill absconding from their lands cannot be what the gods intended.”

“Queen’s word against mine on the first part, I suppose.” Turtle Jaw looked up at the open sky. “And if I’m breaking the rules of their game, the gods should come down here and tell me.” 

 Zayda tented her fingers under her chin, regarding Turtle Jaw coolly. “I have been asked to return you to the Reef.”

“Not happening.” The words were out before Red Tide could stop them. Vikael flashed a grin—pleased that she’d spoken up—but hid it quickly.

“No, I agree,” Zayda said with but a glance for Red Tide. “Not worth the trouble. We shall not be interceding in the growing squabbles of your people.”

“Growing squabbles,” Turtle Jaw repeated. “I take it you have news.”

Zayda nodded. “We have just come from the southern sea. The Queen of the Coralline Throne sends pods of her so-called elite to capture the one you call Deep Dweller. One of you is her son, yes?” She glanced between Throne Gazer and Cuda Bite, the latter smirking at possibly being mistaken for a noble. Throne Gazer nodded once, sitting straight and unblinking. “Your mother, it seems, overestimated the secrecy of your coup. The queen, your aunt—”

“Deliciously complicated,” murmured Yodor, but he was silenced by a glance from Zayda.

“The queen has rooted out Deep Dweller’s agents within Horizdock and pursues your mother into the North Sea,” Zayda continued, speaking to Throne Gazer now. “It is said Deep Dweller shelters with pods of your northern tribes. I suspect much blood will be spilled there, all because of you.”

Salt Wall leaned forward at the mention of the northern pods, but she said nothing. Red Tide watched Throne Gazer close but, even with her [Awareness+], his face remained stoic.

“This is as my mother foresaw,” he said calmly. “It should have no bearing on our arrangement.”

“Young man, I have been the Quill here for some decades. Once, the people of Besaden believed that all the forests of the world rightly fell under our protection.” She smiled sadly. “I know the look of a lost cause.”

“You underestimate my champions,” Turtle Jaw said.

“Perhaps,” Zayda replied. “We will considered your proposal, Turtle Jaw. But first, I must present to you another option. During my journey, I found myself upon a ship with Gucco Arovi, champion of Merchant’s Bay. He has been searching for you these last months. Although I find him distasteful, I believe you should hear him out.”

At a hand wave from Zayda, Vikael got up to open the door for the merchant. Vikael didn’t make much space, keeping himself wedged in the portal so that Gucco had no choice but to briefly go chest-to-chest with the big shifter. Gucco seemed unbothered by this, not least because he was nearly Vikael's size. He smiled with gold-capped teeth and made a show of curling his fingers atop his head like horns.

“What happens now?” the merchant champion asked. “Do we take running starts and bump heads?”

Vikael returned to his seat without response. Nearby, the new champion, Onianatan, shifted uncomfortably, the desert man clearly not enjoying the nearness of the cologne-doused merchant. If only they’d had time to work this Onianatan, Red Tide thought they might have had the votes to garner Besaden’s support.

“Gucco Arovi,” Zayda said flatly, by way of introduction. “Welcome, honored guest.”

Gucco bowed with a grandiose dip so low that his ponytail brushed the floor. Red Tide would've known the man for a merchant at a thousand paces, just from the swaggering way he carried himself. He wore his mustaches oiled and curled in that showy way the merchants preferred, but the face around them was weathered and scarred. Clearly a man who had known combat and was not to be underestimated, even if he did wear a silken blouse that made him look like a whore. The neckline dipped open purposely to reveal his collection of Ink, another way in which this Gucco rivaled Vikael. Over his shirt, Gucco wore a stained leather coat decorated down the shoulders and arms with fringe.

“My, look at you all, sitting on the furniture just like people,” Gucco said, grinning wide as he sauntered to the center of the room. “And Gucco without his bucket of sardines.”

Turtle Jaw turned to Zayda. “Have you brought this man here to insult us?”

“No,” Zayda replied, her cold eyes on Gucco. “Get on with it, merchant.”

Gucco held up his hands, bracelets jingling. He faced the champions of the Reef.

“Your queen of fish came groveling before the fourteen families and our executive,” Gucco began. He was an animated talker, his hands moving faster than his mouth. “She told us how she had lost control of her Quill and begged us not to take our due retribution upon the Reef for violating our contract. That is our right, you understand? Should you wish for something other than a bountiful harvest, we shall, in turn, wish for half your reef to shrivel and sink. This is paper work, which Gucco cares little for.” He tapped his chest. “Either way, I kill you. That is my passion. My calling. But, more repercussions for the other fish the one way than the other.”

Red Tide squinted. As the man talked and talked, she got a better look at the fringe decorating his jacket sleeves. She tasted acid in her mouth as she recognized them as beaded braids—hair, cut from oca’em, and stitched into this hunter’s wardrobe.

“Lucky for you,” Gucco continued, “we need our wish this year. Important transactions to be made, far above the heads of bottom-feeders. A punishment for the Reef would be tabled, but it would come due. You choose your year of rebellion well, fish. Our executive, in his wisdom and mercy, had an idea. A proposal, which Gucco has traveled a great distance to impart. Would you like to hear it?”

No one responded. No one, except for Red Tide.

“Your coat,” she said.

“Ah.” Gucco smiled at her, opened his arms, and twirled. “Do you recognize anyone, pretty fish?”

“It gives me ideas.” Red Tide licked her teeth. “A promise, from me, before your proposal.”

“Red,” Turtle Jaw said quietly.

The merchant leaned forward, his hands on his hips. “Gucco can barely contain his interest.”

“I am going to cut off your cock,” Red Tide said. “And wear it on a necklace.”

Gucco roared with laughter. “It will weigh you down, fish! You will sink!”

Red Tide started to rise, but Meera caught her eye. She saw the way the druid’s hands moved—not so different than when Red Tide worked the coral—and knew that any move she made toward Gucco would be intercepted by the tree around her. Another case of wouldn’t do any good.

The merchant wiped his eyes. “A spirited bunch!” he roared. “Gucco felt disappointment that he might not indulge his hobby this year, yet now he feels he might yet find joy fighting alongside the burner of boats.” He winked at Red Tide and she flinched in spite of herself. “Yes. Here is the Bay’s offer. You fish may have your wish. We shall not interfere. We shall not punish. And, in return, you will fight for us.”