Timothy sighed, moving through a stack of written reports. The dreaded descent into bureaucracy. Not even he with all his power could avoid it entirely. He snorted at the thought. Knowledge was power. Mostly he used that to refer to magical knowledge, but the old meaning still held true. If he ignored these sorts of records, and the information they contained, he would lose track of what was going on in the holds and the politics and benefits that drove them to act.

So here he was reading through reports on the various ongoing large-scale hunts. Cross-referencing the reports of the commanders with his own observations to attempt to paint a better picture of the overall state of things. It wasn’t easy or all that clear, but he thought they were winning. Maybe.

The numbers of invading beasts were decreasing faster than the influx of new invaders. That was definitely on the 'win' side of the ledger. but to do that they'd gathered a significant number of hunters from all over the union. Hunters whose standard ranges were now not being culled. The number of beasts ascending both in those power vacuums and from eating the suppressed invaders were going to be a problem. With more ascensions and fewer hunters going after them, the regular hunting grounds were considerably richer than they had been so it wasn't a 'problem' anyone was complaining about. Not yet at least. But even if the payoffs were larger, the risks were larger as well.

He sighed, there was nothing he could do about that at the moment. He brushed aside the last of the battlefield reports and looked at the rest of the stack.

There was quite a bit left on the table. Life had to go on, and the large-scale hunts were only weekly or bi-weekly affairs. They couldn't be more often. The men and women of the holds were risking their lives out there, the compensation for that was significant and it was the best kind of compensation from the holds point of view. Mana and aura building aids along with the lessons learned in a life or death situation. The survivors needed time to consume the resources and reflect on those lessons if they were to grow. And with the problems on the horizon, not to mention the immediate risks, they would indeed need that growth.

Besides, even without the rewards, they also needed time to meditate and refill their mana. Meditation, Timothy mused, it still didn’t seem to be quite the right word, although he had none better. The act of filtering and reforming the native raw magic of the world into something that resonated with the user. Storing it up, droplets at a time, in the aura until they had a great store of mana ready to fuel future spells. It could take a day or two to recharge after fully exhausting such a store.

And that was another problem. Because the hunters were frequently forced to spend their mana like water to survive and win during a day of hunting. What then did he have for the return trip. More than a quarter of the total casualties they’d suffered in the last few months had been due to trickling attacks of normal beast packs. It was always dangerous to move in groups larger than twenty. So some casualties were unavoidable, but the numbers were far beyond even that unfortunate fact and exhaustion was the cause. They were either too tired to pay attention or having spotted the ambushers just didn't have the juice left in them to do anything about it.

What was done was done. He sighed, tossing the casualty report to the side and picking up a chart on ascendance rates. It was a massive bright spot in the middle of the cloud of depression the casualty numbers brought. Despite nearly 200 deaths, they were stronger than ever. Nearly twenty-seven guardians had made the jump to tier three. Most by eating carefully crafted meals. Any one of which could damn near bankrupt a hold before this mess began. Tier 3 beasts meats hadn't been available before, but they were too strong to be eaten straight. A cornucopia of supporting herbs were needed to partially pacify and purify the residual intent into something humans could make use of. Even then the eaters would need to spend a significant chunk of time to properly digest the intent and expel any residuals that they couldn't make use of.

Glancing through the lists he smiled to see some exceptions to the 'strength through money' creed. Four names stood out on the plaque with a note indicating they had broken through to tier 3 without external help. Glancing down the list it was even more evident at the lower tiers, with the jump to tier 2 mid (tier 2 low was the minimum strength to join) being over a quarter advancing without help.

It was a pretty well-known phenomenon. Humans were naturally lazy. Timothy himself was no exception. That didn’t mean they had to act lazy, but it did mean that it was a constant temptation. Blockages and bad habits that often prevented people from advancing took dedicated work to get through. Dedication that just didn't seem worth the effort sometimes. But then big hunts began and problems that seemed to be irreversible when sitting at home, safe and sound suddenly became trivial when the options were adapt or die.

That was on the negative side, Timothy reminded himself, standing up and wandering over to his sideboard to pour a cup of water. The positive side was a great many eager youngsters were kept from forming those bad habits in the first place. Seeing up close and personal the way the casualties were predominantly from the lowest strength levels and how those who shirked training were often the first to go.

Either way, the general strength of every hold involved in the invasion missions was rising. And rising quite quickly. A fact that was not lost on many of the holds that had been unwilling to become involved.

He walked back to the study table, wincing slightly as he gripped the cup too hard and pressed it into the tender stump of his missing pinky finger. It was a familiar pain and he didn’t let it distract him. His right hand flipped through the reports before fishing out a list of holds that were requesting to be included. No less than ten names were on it. Regi’s little empire was growing like a wildfire.

Here was hoping that he would quit trying to drag Timothy into the running of it. He knocked on the wood of his cup.

He spent another ten minutes speed reading through the various reports then gratefully pushed them aside. His ritual room called to him, but that discipline he just raved about applied to him as well. He forced himself to take a few more minutes filing away the reports in a pair of fairly massive file cabinets. Each was a solid hunk of wood molded and formed into a fair approximation of a living tree, complete with special textures on the outside that resembled bark. The stubs of branches were the handles and each pulled a simple drawer out. Damn but that woman did amazing work. He took a minute to admire them. He’d asked for something that didn’t remind him of a cubicle and she had delivered in spades. They weren’t perfect. It took a bit of muscle to get the drawers to slide properly when fully loaded with wooden plaques, even with oil being regularly applied to the slides. But then nothing was. They were plenty good enough. Besides, the problem was the weight they had to hold and that wasn’t her fault. He wished, not for the first time either, that they could use paper more often.

It wasn’t just the highly damp climate that prevented it. Paper, even the basic stuff they currently turned out, could survive for several years even in the damp… if it was written on by a norm. Writing was a way of communicating intent, and the intent given off by a trained will wasn't something simple paper could stand. As the power of the mana user grew the material they had to use to write on also grew. Solid hardwood worked for low tiers, but at Timothy’s level, they mostly had to work with stone or even magically fortified stone. That or appropriately tiered beast skins, but that was far too wasteful. If Timothy had anything to say about it such resources would never be wasted on bureaucrats!

Taking another sip of water he took a moment to let that brief burst of anger fade. It wasn't worth getting angry about and besides, he could take comfort in knowing that while those never-to-be-sufficiently-damned paper-pushers couldn't manage fragile materials, that didn't fully apply to Timothy. Control was something of a specialty of his, after all. He could contain his intent enough to write on less noble materials. He could write on paper if the subject was non-magical and he worked really hard at it... But that wasn't that helpful. What that was worth writing wasn't magical in some manner?

He finished the filing and closed the drawers. Taking a deep breath of the air that suddenly seemed all the sweeter for having finished the annoyingly necessary chore. He glanced around the room to make sure he hadn't left a mess. He shared the room and the records it held with Arthur and the man could get unreasonably upset about a bit of working clutter. But the room was clean and organized, he nodded his head and turned to walk at a brisk clip out through the door. Taking a moment to seal it up as he did so. The records weren't terribly valuable, per se, but neither were they something that needed to be thoughtlessly spread about. A dozen strides took him through another locked and sealed door into his workroom. He re-sealed the door behind him and grabbed a supper-berry from the basket beside the door for breakfast. Although that might be a bit of a misnomer. One of the baseball-sized wonderful things was enough to fill most of a norm’s daily needs for a day, and physically that was all Timothy was. A good reminder, especially for him, that while they had all come a long way, their starting point, and the starting point of the next generation, were still basic humans.

A thought that didn’t stay with him long as walked the remaining distance to the maintenance requests. A bit tedious still, but miles better than going through reports. He spent the first hour going through and reinforcing the hold’s regular enchantments. From the quality of life stuff like sewers and hot water in the baths to the defensive works like the large scale illusions that hid the place and the focusing towers that would augment the power of any mage attuned to the stored energies inside. Nothing was close to collapsing, but he made a point of checking over a portion of the hold each day, just to make sure it never got that far.

He was excited to see that several of the low-level enchantments had been reinforced already. Molly, from the graduating class, was going to be a godsend. She was still a far cry from being able to reinforce everything on her own, but every little bit he didn’t have to do was that much more free time. He would have to break away some more time to give her personalized lessons. A bit of time invested upfront could give back in spades later. He practically salivated at the thought of having an extra hour a day to work on his projects.

Projects like the contribution system. He half sighed with exasperation. Not yet. He wouldn’t worry about that yet. He spent another pair of hours going over his offensive armaments. Several illusionary enchantments needed reinforcing. He’d been using the hell out of them and it showed in deteriorating spell lines and fraying intent chains. He’d caught it early enough that he wouldn’t have to re-carve the stone enchantment cards, but he did have to mentally redraw the enchantments. Stepping through them like he had when they were first made, recognizing the inherent meaning that drove them and agreeing once again that it made sense. Affirming their existence to allow them to continue existing.

He spent another hour refilling some of the expended consumables. Some, like skunk musk essence, by conjuring the liquid drop by drop then distilling it into a more potent form, but that took far too long to be practical for everything. The purpose of components was to save him time, not make him use up more of it. That's what subordinates were for!

He made up a list of what he was missing and the prices he was willing to pay for them (On wood. Take that bureaucrats!), then dropped it down a chute. The bin at the end of that chute was checked regularly. It would find its way to the job boards soon enough.

He took a short break to go through a series of stretches. From simply raising up on his toes with his hands reaching for the ceiling to a backward bend with both hands and feet flat on the ground. It had taken a good bit of effort to get to this point, and he still had a long way to go. (That damn lotus sitting position had to be a myth made to make westerners look stupid!) Flexibility took constant effort and no little pain. Much like magic really.

It was unfortunate that he couldn’t afford the time to join the yoga class he used to go to. That and damn the outsiders for taking away yoga pants! They’d achieved many things in the interim with regards to types of clothes, but stretchable pants just hadn’t been among them. Damn you Controller!

He snorted, not that he had room to complain with a mostly nude bathing pool sitting not 400 feet beneath him. Distractions were still available, even if their form had shifted slightly. Distractions, that was the problem. He had far too much to do to even spend the time to enjoy the distractions he’d gone out of his way to set up! It was a real tragedy.

I’m going positively mauldin, he mused, walking over to another tree-like file cabinet to retrieve his notes on the contribution system. These were not on wood but on heavy essence stone plaques and cards. He could hold his intent back, that didn’t mean it was easy and in this particular case, it would have been counterproductive. His intent was what would make this work as much as the plans and philosophy behind it. Recording the plans without intent would be like making a map without distances. Pointless.

But both the intent and the philosophy had come a long way since his first frustrating talks with his brother. He had most of the skeleton framework worked out, but there were a few bits and pieces that were proving problematic. The nice thing was that he likely wouldn’t have to create any new runes from scratch to pull it off. As long as he could get a few of the other disciplines to pitch in at least. If he had to trap and measure the strength of a fading aura he was screwed.

It could take a month of dedicated effort to visualize a simple new rune and dealing with souls, or aura’s whatever the connection might be, was never simple. On top of that one rune would likely not be enough to do everything he needed.

No, if he was going to get this up and running any time soon he couldn’t just do it alone. He walked to the sideboard to pour himself another cup of water, draining most of it quickly he then waved a hand over the mostly empty cup, temporarily forcing a resonance between the water inside it and the scrying pool a floor above. It took only a moment to borrow its scrying function and glance at the sundial over the north gate. A couple hours past noon then, it was early yet, but that would just give him enough time to make a side call. Problematic areas or no, it was time to start reaching out to his peers.

Piling the different plaques and enchanting cards into a box lined with hovercroc hide. He activated its enchantment to let it float off the table then walked out of his workroom and through the north door into the meeting room, letting the box float casually along behind him. Sealing the door behind him he took a moment to glance around the walls of the oddly shaped room.

The outer and inner walls were both concentric gentle arcs. An obvious requirement when considering the room was inside the walls of the hold, but still somewhat alien to someone who grew up in a building that were almost always a collection of boxes. Still, if it had to be so... round, then at least it wasn't blank stone walls that stared at him. Or even, blank essence stone walls. They had beautifully carved into a loose jungle vista. Light seemingly natural discolorations in the stone itself lent green to the treetops, brown to the trunks and many more vibrant splotches to the variety of vegetation between the two.

He walked forward with a sigh, he hated this part. Dealing with people after the sheer beauty and fluid consistency of magic was always a shock. A good shock in many ways. A reminder that the world wasn’t just magic and the weird logic that went along with it.

He sat down at the smoothed essence stone table, so reminiscent of polished white marble lightly carved in various elegant simple pictures to provide enough texture to prevent slipping. Simple birds in flight between towering trees with the occasional face hidden in the twisted tree trunks or the stones upon the ground. His ma’d always been a fan of Bev Doolittle and given her position a good bit of her preferences were making their way into the artistic culture of the hold at large.

He didn’t mind, looking for hidden faces everywhere wasn’t such a bad message to communicate. They could all stand to be a bit more observant and mindful of the world around them. Both to its danger and to its growing intelligence.

Looming out of the middle of the table was a series of five empty glass cylinders. Timothy, ducking under the table for a moment, injected his will into a rune carved into the front of a tank, one of a dozen that made up the central support pillar for the large table, labeled “Bloodhaven.” Unseen but sensed a small sphere near the bottom of the cylinder became a void, devouring all the liquid that fell down into it. A similar sphere appeared above one of the cylinders and the missing liquid poured out, quickly filling it up. He repeated that step for the reservoirs labeled “High Planes”, “Resolve” and “The Observatory.” Only one cylinder remained empty and filling it was going to be a bit different. Retaking his seat he sat the floating box down and rummaged through it for a few moments before coming up with a blank stone spell card and his ‘pen-is-mightier.’

“Here goes,” he muttered. Placing pen to stone he carefully carved out a simple letter J. Bringing half a lifetime of memories to the fore of his brain he embedded each subsequent letter with that intent. An intent to contact and connect with the owner of the name carved. The name with so many different memories and emotions tied to it.

Jenney.

He smiled slightly as he felt the connection form, tenuous at first but steadily increasing in strength. His smile grew wider, showing a good many teeth, that kind of connection was extremely intrusive. Like someone staring at you from across the room. No matter what you did the eyes didn’t shift. Didn’t blink. Just. Kept. Staring!

She must be about ready to boil over the top. He walked over to a sideboard to pick up the ubiquitous water pitcher that nearly every room in the hold held. Returning he emptied it into the cylinder, then triggered the rune in the base of the pitcher to refill it from the cleansed reservoir below. It took three and a half refills but he filled it up. He strapped the stone card between two pieces of wood with a bit of twine and tossed it into the cylinder to float atop the water.

An extremely angry face and a dim view of the area around it took form as soon as the card and water touched.

“-AT DO YOU WANT, TIMOTHY?” Jenney was currently yelling. And probably the second or third time judging by how raspy her voice was getting. He really should have filled that cylinder up first.

Ah well. Hindsight and all that.

“Evening Jenney!” He said brightly, smiling as widely as he could manage. It was always harder to scream at a smiling face.

“Timothy! Why do my feet feel wet? Ohhh when I get my hands on you-” She began, twisting a cloth shawl between her large hands like she was imagining his neck.

“Yes, yes. Sorry about that. Took a bit longer to set up than I expected." Seeing her storm cloud expression threatening to boil over he quickly continued "But I can make it up to you!”

She stared at him for a few moments, moments that made keeping his bright cheerful smile up harder and harder to manage. Finally, she caved before his face did, “What do you want, brother?”

“How would you like to help keep our fellow humans from killing each other?”

“And do you have some oceanfront property in Arizona to sell me as well? I'm your sister dammit as if I don't know your games. Tell me the whole story or don’t bother.”

“Fine, Fine. Regi is scheming to drag the Union into a much tighter unit. Getting everybody to work together and in doing so hopefully preventing wars between the holds.”

Her eyes squinted slightly as her mouth tightened into a firm line. “You want me to not only back ‘The Man’ but create it in the first place?”

“Come off it, Jenney.” he barked, a bit sharper than he had intended but it always pissed him off to see family act like idiots. “Civilization and a government are what let us live such a peaceful life before. Even without wars between nations ‘The Man’ kept us all from killing each other over stupid shit like letting dandelions spread to a neighbor's lawn or for having a car up on unsightly blocks in the front yard. Despite that anti-government hippy crap, you have to know that!”

She shrugged, letting it go. She wasn’t really a hippy to start with, despite the drama. Just a bit of a non-conformist and frankly he could relate to that. He didn’t particularly care to be shoved into the same old mold either. Not that his disliking it had kept him out of the cubicle farm. “Fine then, governments can be helpful, the good ones at least and those aren't exactly common. But good or bad that doesn’t mean I want to get involved.”

“I completely agree! He conned me into helping with this nonsense. Then again, after messing with it for a bit I kind of convinced myself that it isn’t nonsense. I may not want to deal with the day-to-day drivel of governance, but a single task, even a difficult one in exchange for enjoying the benefits? That I can do, and I think you should too.”

“Benefits…” She muttered sadly. He hid a grimace. Stuck in her little pocket fairy realm she didn’t get to experience many of those benefits. Then again…

“One of those benefits is not having humans killing each other. I wasn’t kidding about that and you know how I feel about lying.”

The urge to disagree with him warred on her face for a few moments before steadily falling into stillness. A reputation for honesty did have some definite benefits. “Fine, let's say I believe you. What do you need from me, Timothy? Quit beating around the bush.”

“Funny you should mention it. We demand a shrubbery!” His voice rose to a shrill obnoxious level for the second sentence.

“Should I say Ni at you till you go away? No thanks. Besides, I hated that movie. Life of Brian was much better.”

Hated? He suppressed a twitch in his right eye. You need her help, Timothy, he reminded himself. “...it was good too… but better? …Maybe. Nevermind that. I would prefer a tree anyway. More majestic.”

“...Timothy. You’re not making any sense.”

“Then let me start at the beginning. See I got conned into building this contribution system that will let different groups work together and still have the loot fairly apportioned afterwards.” He didn’t mention that the loot usually constituted bodies. He was sure she knew that, intellectually at least, but he saw no reason to rub her nose in things she found distasteful. “To do that I worked out a rough framework of an enchantment. The biggest problem I see is that I need at least 2,000 of these enchantments. You know how… poorly attempting to mass-produce enchantments works.” Or rather doesn't. He carefully didn’t see the shudder she was unable to completely hide. He had his own scars in that regard and he wasn’t about to admit to those failures publicly. No one needed to know that the cooing sounds that had half the hold thinking one of the 5th-floor bathrooms was haunted was a living spirit that came into being when he tried to copy a clock enchantment. A living thing, even one made by mistake wasn't something that could be casually destroyed. No, call it what it was. Killed. Maybe murdered. Either way, he wasn't about to go down that route. That didn't mean he was going to admit to it either. No one needed to know about it. No one at all…

“So at first, I thought to make it on something big, like a massive boulder. Enchant the entire thing then take a few chips off the old block. Or 2,000 chips.” She just sighed at his attempted humor. He’d have to try a bit harder, but later. “The problem is that if time and Malthus style population growth have their way then 2,000 won’t be enough. Eventually, I, or a successor if it takes long enough, would have to repeat the enchantment. Now, considering the number of people I plan to get help from that is already a bit of a problem, but it gets worse when you consider that the new boulder wouldn’t link with the old. ‘They came from one big rock therefore they are linked’ only works if they actually do come from the same big rock. So I audibled.”

He stopped to pour himself a cup of water from the pitcher that he had failed to return to its place. “A rock will eventually run out, no matter how big I start with, not to mention finding room to fit a giant rock in the hold. But if I use something alive then it can grow to meet the expanding demand. So I’m asking your help to find and prepare a tree that fits the bill. Something that will keep producing new pieces that can be handed out. I was thinking of using the leaves. Seemed better than cutting branches off to make slips. The leaves, properly enchanted, will always be linked to the tree that dropped them. They can likewise be made to record the contributions their owner makes and communicate that through those links back to the tree. With a tree, we could also take cuttings and spread them to other holds. That way it wouldn’t just be Runehold’s tree. It could be everyone's.”

Equality was one of her buttons, and he wasn’t above pushing it for a good cause. Then again it was a number of people's button. What he used on her could and would also work to rope them in too. Either way, while everyone would have their own tree they wouldn't all be quite equal. Generational order mattered. The first of a thing to exist had a special symbolic meaning that would always give it a bit of an advantage.

“Hmmm, alright. I’ll admit it tickles my fancy to have a tree of peace tying the holds together. What exactly are your parameters?”

“I can prepare the linking spells and work through the connection and display setup. I’m thinking a pedestal or large stone signboard in front of each tree. It will display what things are worth and allow authorized users to make public shifts if some resources become worth more than others.”

He paused to give her time as he noticed her writing down notes in the soft earth in front of her. "The leaves should be durable but if they break apart it won’t be the end of the world. They will be linked to the tree to prevent scamming anyway. Or at least to make it harder to scam.” People being people that would be a necessity. The leaves would-be observers, recording contributions and reporting to the mother trees, but not piggy banks. Aside from hacking it would also prevent sabotage. Points would be stored in the trees so if a leaf was damaged or a tree killed the network wouldn’t lose everything. If it worked as intended then every tree would share copies of the data. So the tree would be lost until a new cutting could be planted, but non of the contents would be lost.

Not that he was going to explain all of that. He didn’t need to share everything with Jenney, or anyone for that matter. One person could keep a secret. Two? He had his doubts.

He took a moment to do an ego check. Some secrets were kept just to make the holder feel special but after a brief check, he didn't think that applied here. At some point or another, knowing humans, someone was going to burn a tree down. Or cut it or some other such douchebaggery. What those eventual asshats didn't know wouldn't hurt the rest of them. But if they knew how the protections worked, they might try to burn all of the trees down at once. Given enough information, it was always possible to find a chink in protective armor. The trick was in not letting anyone see the armor well enough to look for those chinks.

“What I need from you is a tree that will easily accept enchantments, has a long lifespan, and is robust enough to survive without babying. Oh, and it must be something that can easily be grown from a cutting.”

She thought it over for a moment before raising a single eyebrow and asking, “If you can just replant it do you really need it to live that long?”

“Of course it does-” He stopped. A long lifespan would let Runehold maintain a hidden advantage for longer, but that wasn’t something he was willing to admit. Nor, he realized, was it that important. Even a normal jungle tree probably lived longer than a human generation. By then Regi would either have things sewn up or he wouldn’t. The tree wouldn’t be a critical issue. Besides, there was no reason to assume that the Runehold without his brother in charge should be propped up. Monarchy wasn’t exactly something he had a stake in. Whoever came after would have to be worthy and skilled enough to hold the Union together on his own.

He shuddered inside a bit, the thought of his home without his family wasn’t a pleasant one. “Huh. I guess you're right. It doesn’t need to have that long of a life. But still, just for stability's sake let’s not have a very short lifespan either. It needs to give off lots of leaves fairly quickly. If it is frequently being regrown that might be an issue.”

“That makes sense. What about your first tree? If you pluck it bald it will die on you as well.”

“Ahh, can I add on a need to grow more leaves quickly and not die when they are plucked?”

“So a tree that is robust enough to survive some abuse, it doesn’t have to be Achilles but it can’t be like those inbred thoroughbred horses either, the ones that can die of a stomach ache.” She mused, “It needs to grow relatively quickly, but I think not necessarily naturally. Some magical fertilizer and growth spells could cover that gap. You might enlist the Tree singers to help there.” He made a note of it. He wasn’t about to turn down a good suggestion. That lot of tree huggers might orgasm from the thought of a tree of power, the nutters. Powerful nutters, he reminded himself. Besides, they had always been a bit on the isolationist side. It would be silly not to use their own expectations to draw them more firmly into the Union.

“A blank slate for magic though… I’ll have to spend some time on that. Some fruit trees react better to some spells, but it’s not an across-the-board thing. Peach trees like additional sunlight spells but react poorly to many quick growth spells. No, off the top of my head I can't think of anything that fits. I might have to splice a few breeds together to get what you want. It’s too bad that the more common trees that symbolize peace aren't available. I would have started with those.”

“Ah?” Timothy perked up. “Symbols are always important. What trees are you referring to?”

“Oh, there are a number of them. The Iroquois revered the White Pines, wrong climate for that here and a pine doesn't have leaves so we can skip that one. The Greeks called olives the tree of peace because they took a long time to grow. If they were present in any numbers then some asshat warlord hadn’t come through recently and burned them out. The climate should work for them, but I don’t have any in my garden.”

She paused, he recognized that look. He did it when he was digging through his memory for something from the old world. It seemed a different life entirely at this point. “China has the Ginkgo trees. They are supposed to be some of the oldest tree species in existence. Something that predated the dinosaurs. They're also flat-out beautiful. This climate would have no trouble growing them either, but again I don’t have any in my garden.”

“I’m not sure about Africa. Oh, I am certain that they have a few trees with similar symbolism. Most cultures revere peace in some form and most of them seem to attribute it to trees. Something about long slow patient growth I would guess. And if that’s the case then there should be a number of usable trees there. The sheer variety of plants available from the African continent needs to be seen to believe. Unfortunately, a lack of a written history makes it much harder to link those amazing species with any cultural significance or symbolism.”

He couldn’t say much about Africa. But Greek history and mythology had come up quite a bit in his fantasy readings. “Don’t olives come from a bush? I think I remember seeing pictures of olive groves that looked more like grapevines than actual trees.”

“You remember incorrectly then." She snorted, "Oh, some people will refer to them as shrubs rather than trees. They don’t grow terribly large when being grown commercially. Still, they don’t look anything like a vineyard.”

“Alright, alright. I admit it's not an area I paid a great deal of attention to. I miss the almighty google.” he sighed.

She matched his sigh and looked down. “Don’t we all?”

Trying for a happier note he spoke into the silence that was rapidly becoming depressing. “So you don’t have any of those trees?”

“Nope. South American history is almost as opaque as African. There might be Ginkgo trees or an olive tree around. Both could grow in this climate. But if someone had found olives they would be available for sale by now and Ginkgo trees are very distinctive. If they grew I think they would have been noticed by now.”

“Maybe they have but no one realized what they saw? I seem to recall that olives on the tree aren't anything like the ones purchasable in a store. They take a ton of processing I think. Maybe someone has seen them and doesn’t know what they saw. Same with the Ginkgo. They just haven't said because we haven't asked.“

“Perhaps.” She said, clearly just humoring him. “But beautiful or useful as they might be, we don’t need to focus on just them. Fig trees would also work. Do you remember that vacation we took to San Diego as children? The giant wall of roots in that park?”

He had to dig a bit for it. “Yes. Yes, I do. Balba or something like that. They were massive suckers and we spent hours climbing around on them.”

“I don’t think that's the correct name but the trees were a variant called Moreton Figs. And yes, they do tend to keep growing until they fill the available space. Fig trees are a symbol of wealth and prosperity. Not a bad fit for something that will measure contributions. Or how about Willows? They are often seen as symbols of wisdom and flexibility-”

Timothy cut in hurriedly, “Flexibility might not be a good thing where counting money is concerned, ya? Let’s skip the willows.”

“Fine, if we are picking trees that we have no access to, the Boda tree is probably one of the most famous. I trust even you know that one?”

“The one Budda supposedly sat beneath? Or rather Sidhartha, right? I can never remember when he is supposed to be referred to as Sidhartha and when he’s the buddha. Not terribly up on that mythos either.”

“Generally right, brother of mine. But I think they wouldn't appreciate having their religion called a mythos any more than mother would appreciate the same being said about Christ.”

He grimaced, imagining briefly the taste of soup at the thought. Blasphemy, even accidental, was not tolerated at their home. “Fair enough. My apologies to those not present.” If his voice was decidedly on the wry side who could blame him.

“Anyway, I’ll put out a bounty board request and have it sent up and down the river for tree cuttings of anything symbolizing peace, wisdom, prosperity or whatever else we can come up with. I don’t mind fronting the cost if it gives us more options to pick between.”

“Are you actually trying to act noble over paying for something that is a favor to you in the first place?” She laughed as she asked.

“Of course not. But it’s not like you won’t keep any and every plant I bring to you, whether it’s for this project or not right? And if I hadn’t offered to pay upfront you would have complained even more!”

They both laughed at that, it was a precious moment. Free from their troubles, just to siblings laughing and joking together. The conversation continued for a time on innocuous things until his internal clock told him it was time for his next meetings.

“I’ve really enjoyed our talk, but I have to run. You take it easy Jenney, ya?”

She waved him away, but she did it with a smile. “Just make sure you break that link to me. You leave it staring at me and I really will think up something nasty to do to you.” the smile didn’t disappear, but there was a glint in her eyes that he really didn’t care for. That and a memory of Regi with tears in his eyes and snot running down his face after she slipped him a hot pepper.

“I will.” He measured the height of the glass cylinder with his eyes, deciding that there was no way in hell he was going to hop up on the table while she watched and fish it out. Then again, he did have other options. A small hog tooth fetish hanging from his belt activated at a flick from his will, casually lofting the stone card from the water and into his hands.

Then he unwrote it.

He couldn't think up a better name for the process even though he knew this one sucked. What else could he call tracing the letters in reverse while making himself mentally remove the memories he’d implanted in it earlier. It worked best when he took the same amount of time unmaking it as he had originally taken to make it. A difficult thing for objects he’d made a long time ago, but a simple one this time. He’d known he’d have to destroy it and so had made a mental note of what he was doing and how long he took to do it.

All of these precautions were necessary if he didn’t want to use the link as a voodoo doll. There was a reason she hadn’t been happy about him linking her. Beyond just the annoyance of being stared at. Thankfully it wasn’t a skill many people could manage. Ol’ Binder probably could, if he had access to enough information to make the connection in the first place. Beyond that permanency just wasn’t a common magical talent.

Once the connection dissipated he tossed it into the air and activated the piranha head fetish hanging from his belt. An illusionary fish briefly appeared to swallow the card. The crumbled remains poured out beneath the piranha’s head and fell to the floor. He’d have to clean it up later.

In the meantime, he had a five-way call to make. Hopefully, it would go as well as the one with Jenney had. He needed their help, but he knew it wouldn’t be cheaply acquired. Jenney was in it for the greater good and a few extra tree species for her garden. These gentlemen had holds to support.

Considering how badly he needed their help he was definitely in for a skinning, and he knew it.

He just had to hope that they didn't.