Chapter 17: Cloud River Canyon

Relja walked across a stony outcropping high above the sea. Guided by deliberate intuition, she had traveled through the early bits of morning. Now, long flaxen braids tapped at her back and cool winds tingled her high cheekbones. To gain novel insights, Relja needed to cast a wider net. The new affliction troubling the Mesafolk needed a cure, not simple half-remedies. She intended to detect [Motes of Learning] swirling among the flow of air, and to gather them from the breeze. Talus Bluffs was an ideal place for it; all four winds were regular visitors.

Relja smelled the air, sensing morning mists still clinging to the cliffs below. She squinted at a bright break of blue in the clouds with her sharp, honey-colored eyes. She caught the low sun rays through an amber crystal affixed to the tip of her [Four Winds Staff]. Blocking wind with her cloak, she needled golden light at a dried sprig of [Whisperleaf], focusing. It smoked easily and Relja stood. She spun three circles, holding the smoldering herb out to create a flitting circumference of [Spell: Long-Listening].

Dizzy, she balanced herself, leaning on her staff to concentrate. Fragment by fragment, threads of learning blew to her ears. Relja listened, letting her mind be mercurial, connecting and deciphering. The motes told of an island to the north and east, from whence the winds blew. Something grave had taken place below the Mesa.

Had she gleaned the motes well? The faint scent of monster magic hid among them. She delved into her mental lore library; kobolds? Interpreting a mote web required a nebulous yet contemplative mood; difficult to attain and difficult to hold. Relja was adept, but only just. Still, she was sure that spirit harvesting wouldn’t materialize in her mind by pure imagination.

The motes whispered of machines. A hollow metal spire. A tower had fallen? And she was pretty sure which guild had built it.

According to lore, all the weight of life in the Realm shared a common core. New life could only form once older life ended. Relja contemplated the return of older spirits to a shared pool. If the Spirit Realm had become unbalanced, major problems could arise. Like, say, a sickness no healer had seen before.

Not for the first time, she wished her teacher were still alive. Air Elder Neejael’s [Candle of Remembrance] had melted down to half-wax. Such candles were enchanted to dwindle over one full moon cycle. It allowed a mourner time to ponder what wisdom the departed may have forgotten to tell. Relja never wanted her fingertips to feel the wax grow cold.

Her task was now a lonesome one. Others sought answers, sure, but not in the same ways. She briefly toyed with thoughts of Spirit Magic, to ask her departed elder for guidance. Dangerous thoughts. If she made a mistake, the Mesafolk might wake to find another healer gone. Much hope rested with Mystics and Healers.

Relja had some time; until the last fiber of Elder Neejael’s candlewick transmuted to smoke. When that window closed, she’d need a fool’s cap on her head to try Spirit spells.

The mote learning had been serious. Relja ruminated on it. The Mesafolk’s sickness and the spirit harvest could share a common thread. If playerkind’s portion of the spirit pool had been stolen from, it could be so. A collective weakening of health. She wondered if other clans were enduring similar plights.

She needed to know.

Relja gazed out west, across the Crescent Valley. Dark clouds bled down from the curve of distant mountain range. As they roiled, unnaturally substantial even at a hazy distance, strange shapes formed in her mind’s eye. She imagined colonies of bugs spilling down the mountain. A thought formed as she cloud-gazed: could she locate a Beast Mage? Like Relja’s ability to gather information from motes on the breeze with Air magics, Beast Mages had their own strange ways. A handful of animal species, especially tiny ones, act as collectives. Do they think as collectives?

A shiver tingled her flesh and her tawny [Moth Dust Robe] seemed thin as moth wings. Her elder had never mentioned such an idea. Communicating with insect collectives as a way to glean deeper understanding of the spirit pool; ideas like that might fill entire books. Perhaps she should seek a Spirit Mage’s help, too?

But Beast Magic adepts were rare as fresh fruit on the Mesa. Relja had eaten [Dried Duskberry] countless times, yet almost never experienced their fresh, ripe flavor. Rubbing her chin, she stood, still staring absently at the dark clouds. Even [Dried Duskberry]s were scarce lately. She breathed, imagining the taste.

Relja remembered that an NPC mage had arrived in Soleus Mesa a week ago from the Crescent Valley. A new quest hub in the Tang Tree Orchard had popped up. Relja had yet to visit, but now she deemed it wise. Mages with an affinity for plant magics were close cousins to those with beastly affinities, it was known.

That, and she needed to acquire the new Herbalism quest there.

In recent days, word of [Tangybark] properties had blown across the Mesa’s open roads with swift surety. In less than a quarter moon, it had become common knowledge: gnawing on the pulpy underside of [Tangybark] can combat the sickness’s symptoms. The remedy was in high demand, never mind the hows or whys of its effect.

Relja put away the tools of her Air arts, cinching shut a silky satchel. She untied Fizzu, her Mesa Strider, from a stubby shrub twisting up out of granite. The tall bird’s teal plumage rustled in the breeze. The thick weave of his hemp and reed saddle looked like fresh-baked pretzel bread. He stared stoically at Relja behind his dusty-orange bill.

“Come,” she said, grabbing his rope to climb onto his back.

~<>*<>*<>~

The sun had pathed beyond noon as Relja rode along the plateau’s worn stone roads. She felt abnormally sweaty under her robe’s hood. Gazing out at the rust and dust shades of higher mesa strata, she experienced waves of lightheaded uncertainty. The spindly windmills and geodesic weather collectors dotting the distances between sparse villages urged her on. The Mesafolk would last longer without her than without water. She put the thought out of mind, allowing it to float away.

Whistling purposefully, she called a slight gale to push them from behind. Fizzu allowed his wings to open, keeping his stride light and swift with the wind.

Having heard several passing words, Relja knew the Root Mage was a student of Murnia Marshwick herself. The visiting mage had studied Herbalism with a master. Rumors and the existence of a new quest hub led Relja to Cloud River.

Fizzu ran at full speed along the cliffy edge of Cloud River Canyon. Relja was unafraid of the height, relishing the evaporation of sweat beads from her forehead. She scanned the river and its thin cultivated fields far below, looking for the expanded Tang Tree Orchard. Spotting it, she commanded her mount to leap off into open air. Gliding, Relja whistled a melody that disappeared in the whipping wind, and they descended into Soleus Mesa’s longest, widest, and deepest canyon.

Rushing water drowned out the sound of talon scratches as Fizzu alighted on the sand and rock bank.

Relja found the young woman, sawing into a dense, twisting branch of a Tang tree with a knife. The area had been transformed to look like a small vineyard. An array of saplings paired with stakes and wiry lines of taut vine strung across.

Fizzu squawked.

The mage glanced back, steady green eyes and thick walnut locks draped over stout shoulders.

Relja nodded a greeting.

“What is it?” said the NPC.

“Are you elder Marshwick’s student?” Relja asked, dismounting.

The mage turned toward her, sliced sapling branch in one hand, knife and a glob of grey goop in the other.

A sudden itch inside Relja’s belly caused her to wince, hand trembling.

“Ah, okay,” the Root Mage pointed at a table with a smattering of bark bits on it, “over there.”

“I’m here for the Herbalism quest, not the bark. I’m Relja.”

“Medett,” she replied, peeling a chunk of bark with the knife. “Take some anyway. Give it a nibble.”

“What were you doing to that tree?” Relja asked, taking a strip of [Tangybark] and dropping it into a pocket.

“Grafting.”

“Tell me more."

“Not here to give lessons.”

Relja stared at her, calm but uncertain.

Medett sighed. “Fine. I guess I am here to give Herbalism lessons, technically. Give me a hand. The few helpers I have are out delivering.”

“It takes a decade here in the canyon shade for a Tang Tree to enter maturity, doesn’t it?” Relja asked.

“Mmm. I’m grafting saplings to the older ones. Applying my art to speed things up.”

“I see,” said Relja. She accepted a small wooden tool, inspecting it. “So where’s the quest NPC?”

“You’re looking at her,” said Medett. “AI upgrades.”

Relja was unconvinced.

“Were you feeling hot or sweaty earlier?” said Medett. “Yeah, I bet you were. Took a pre-quest that sent you my way, huh? Look in your quest log. You know that tummy itch? That was you accepting the quest to assist me… I’m the Herbalism trainer.”

Relja called her tablet and the sky blue device floated in front of her on a constant cloud of air. The quest details were indeed in its logs.

“Now, you’re going to experience a mild damage over time effect,” said Medett. “But that’s part of the quest. It’s a slow tick. Any Herbalism student worth their sap can keep up their own health, I say.”

Medett snatched the grafting tool back, slathering grey goop on it. She showed Relja how to slice the thick end of the sapling’s stem diagonally, then glue it to the groove she’d sawed out of the tree.

“So, I found you,” said Relja. “Is grafting all you want help with?”

“What do you know about a Spirit Harvest?” asked Medett.

Relja winced as a tiny sliver of her healthbar ticked away. “[Motes of Learning] blew to me from Stonesthrow Island, I think. A tower fell. Telemoon, is my guess. Hey, why don’t you tell me the truth. You can’t be just AI.”

“I assure you, I am an NPC,” said Medett. “There was an event in Earth Clan lands as well. A Spirit Harvest.”

Relja stood silent a while. “Alright,” she said, “some mages with a beast affinity can learn to communicate with animals, yes?”

“What of it?”

“What about insects?” said Relja.

Medett wiped and sheathed her knife, then turned to Relja, eyes narrowing. “I should be home helping my own clan. That’s what I know.”

“But you’re here.”

“Council edict,” said Medett. “Can’t fight the sickness only at home. Requires widespread attention. Only known remedy’s a plant, so here I am.”

“You, of course, know of [Whisperleaf]?” said Relja. “I’m a healer too. Air Mystic. But I use [Whisperleaf] to long-listen and gather [Motes of Learning]. I learned of the Spirit Harvest by weaving a mental mote web. But what if we could communicate with insect collectives? Think of each bug brain as a mote in a web? Greater insight into how the shared spirit pool works could help us toward a real cure.”

“Is long shot thinking common here?” asked Medett.

“Yes, and no,” said Relja.

Medett grumbled.

“We want the same thing,” said Relja. “How long can you do this for?” She gestured at the Tang Tree orchard. “Let’s find a real cure?”

“By talking with ants?” Medett’s frown quivered.

“Do you know anyone skilled enough to do it?”

“Skilled?” she shrugged. “I’m sure my brother would happily waste time on it, though.” Medett peered toward a long stairway zigzagging its way up the canyon’s cliffside. “Just hang on a bit.”

Relja took back the wooden tool, nodding. She returned to practicing her grafting work.

She watched intently as Medett carved sigils into the living wood. A faint chartreuse glow veined its way from saps and into the sigils. The magical art trained vines to curl around the grafting splices, holding things in place to let the grey goop seep in.

Satisfied, Medett turned to call, “Berem!”

Relja jumped.

“What!” boomed an echoing voice from near where the canyon’s stone went vertical.

Fizzu squawked.

The canyon shadows had hidden a tent made of hides from her. Strung up among rocks arrayed at the canyon’s base, she saw it now. From inside the tent, a man stood. He rumbled toward them, a low animal following at his side.

Medett cupped her hands to holler; “This one here wants to know if you can talk to bugs!” The canyon wall parroted her last word; “bugs, ugs, ugs…”

Berem stretched. Relja heard his neck and shoulders pop from a short distance. On both shoulders he wore raptor talon bones.

“Talk to bugs, huh?” he said, joining them. He tossed a large, clattering purple sack to the dirt. “I was resting. Back from a prowl. Check out what Vish sniffed out,” he said to Medett. “It’s an entire skeleton. A Bone Craft jackpot.”

Berem was muscular and bulky, dressed in scaly hides, coffee colored leathers, and a collection of tooled bone jewelry. He had distant, brick-colored eyes and shaggy brown hair.

“I’m trying to figure out ways to heal the sickness,” said Relja, regaining his attention.

Berem’s stare was intent, but unfocused. Relja waited for him to speak, kneeling down to pet his Emberfur companion. The fox yipped, then ran itself into a swirl of purple fur. Shades of orange were common in Emberfurs, but the deep raisin-colored pelt was rare.

“I’ve dabbled a bit in bug stuff, yeah,” he said. “That’s a beautiful strider you got there, by the way. There’s something about bird-smell. You know? The musk clutches at you. Amazing.”

“Uh, thanks? That’s Fizzu,” Relja said. “So I’m supposed to believe you’re just a smart NPC, too?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say ‘smart,’” said Medett, eyeballing him.

“Ah, um. I’m what my sister is, yep,” he said.

“Right. Okay then I guess. Moving on?” said Relja. “What about talking with an entire ant colony? Or listening?”

Berem rubbed his broad, stubbly chin, “We could try. Vish,” he said, bending to pet the young Emberfur behind an ear, “fetch up my bug book. Good Vishy.”

The fox dashed off in a fast squiggle.

A yellow light beam flashed in the corner of Relja’s vision, piercing Berem’s bone sack.

“Uh oh,” said Relja. “Someone’s looking for that, maybe?”

“Finders keepers,” he said.

“You’ll keep it till they find you?” said Relja.

Medett gave him a look, and he said, “Yep. Yes.”

“She also knows about what happened,” said Medett, “at the Grave Grove. Says same thing happened on Stonesthrow Island.”

Berem frowned. “I heard elder Stoneleaf saw a corvid Animun near Gaea’s Brow Hill. They’re saying Animun want a bigger slice of the spirit pie.”

“Harbinger of playerkind’s withering,” said Medett. “Also what they say.”

After a handful of silent seconds, Relja pressed on. “Could be Telemoon, too. Insight on how collectives think may help us learn something about the spirit pool. We may get a better idea of the damage the Spirit Harvests caused. And ideas on how to put things right? Or even a cure? If we have a cure, it’ll be easier to confront whoever’s responsible.”

“You think we can repair whatever damage they did?” said Berem.

“Or fight them,” said Medett.

“Perhaps. To both,” said Relja, wincing at another healthbar drip. “But healing the sickness comes first.”