How many bugs could a direhound kill?

Ooliri — Ooliri of all people — was able to knock down one of Unodha’s dogs with his baton. He had his brother’s help, sure, but then it took one stab from Firha to finish the thing. (If his recounting is right, that is, but would Ooliri have embellished killing something?) Awelah shakes her head. So, Unodha’s dogs had to be something a town could defend itself from without needing vesperbanes’ help, right? The danger of direhounds is that they come in packs, anyway. There’s only one left, now.

Yet she had watched that very hound undergo that same muscle-crawling enlargement its master could provoke — all on its own. Something Makuja had thought was impossible without a spell, Unodha’s own spell. Was that direhound casting a spell on its own? But it’s impossible for a direhound to be host to the vespers, wield the vespertine arts. Impossible for any direbeast.

But not a myxogoth.

Awelah tightens for a moment, remembers where her spear is. That was impossible right? Just an obscure myth? Maybe Unodha dying had disrupted whatever hold she had, sent her spell into misbehaving. Awelah breathes in, abdomen rising.

Did it matter? Myxogoth or miscast, what would Awelah do?

Yanseno insinuated Awelah was selfish — willing to enact personal justice and nothing more. He had to be wrong, and she had to show him that.

How many bugs could a direhound kill? Awelah wondered. Now, she asks a better question: how many bugs can I save by acting?

Awelah drops from her perch in Boleheva’s office, feet sinking into the carpet. Carpet, and this town hall has dirt floors. No layer of grime dwells in between the cloth fibers, nor discolors its red and light gray pattern. Well, except for the dirt Awelah’s sandals are tracking now. She looks up, where a red roach is waiting at the threshold. Her large maxillae are crossed.

“Finished your fascination with the floor? You’ve been sitting there far too long. It’s time to go.”

Awelah nods, mind far from the floors or the roach secretary. What would she say to Ooliri, to Makuja, in order for them to act alongside her?

“Be a dear and tell your friends to get lost with you while I close up. It’ll save me some breath.” Ruby closes the door.

Reaching the two other members of Team Duskborn means walking past Yanseno. Right now, he’s calling over to Mogs:

“Look,” he says. “I’m not gonna be your minder. I’m letting you off the hook, just get back here tomorrow, right?” Yanseno balances the black glass of his sensor ball on one dactyl, another dactyl grazing it, spinning the orb. “Remember: I’m a sensor, so it’s not a question of whether I’ll find you, it’s how much of my time you waste. And I charge by the hour.”

The pale nymph walks on past. Ooliri is beside the maverick, but Makuja is perching by the door. If Awelah can get the red nymph on her side, Ooliri will come along too.

Or truly, she didn’t even need to go far. Ooliri stands and starts trailing after Awelah just as she passes.

“Do you know what’s going on?”

Awelah waits until Makuja is in hearshot of her low murmur. The red nymph’s head turns, auricles flaring.

“The direhound is back,” Awelah says. “We need to finish it.”

“You say we, but you mean me,” Makuja says.

“I can still use my spear.”

Ooliri turns to her at that, maxillae opening, His palps ghost his file, perhaps considering avenues of objection — you shouldn’t be using your spear, he could say, or we shouldn’t be doing something so dangerous. But Ooliri takes a different approach: “We shouldn’t do it alone. There are other vesperbanes here.” Then he stops. “Would Boleheva even need our help? Is — is this what she left to do? Then it doesn’t seem like she wants us to—”

“It’s our fault,” Awelah says. “We brought it here. It—”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish, because Yanseno has stopped his conversation with Mogs, and in a single stride, crossed the distance to stand behind Awelah.

“What was that?” he asks.

“It’s following us,” Awelah finishes, her voice not raising nor her dictation quickening, as if in defiance of Yanseno’s intimidation. “Hunting us. If we go out there, it’ll seek us instead of the bees. We can save them.”

“You’re very important, aren’t you?”

Awelah scowls.

“Look, everything you said might be true. Might explain some things. But you forgot what I said this morning. Mother anteater means father anteater. I watched Boleheva read the letter. She wasn’t thinking about a direhound, she was thinking about a direanter.”

Direbeast is all she said, Awelah recalls with a spike of embarrassment. Awelah taps her palps, but no response materializes.

“Then we shall not be getting in her way,” Makuja says. “Boleheva can hunt the anteater, and we can find Vilja.”

Find, Awelah notes. Not hunt, not kill, not even stop.

“You aren’t getting in her way, yeah.” Yanseno says. “You’ve got a room at the inn, and I’m taking you there.”

“Why do you care,” Awelah says. “Let us take out the direhound. If you think we can do it, we get rid of a problem. If you think we can’t… that also gets rid of a problem, doesn’t it?” There’s an edge that creeps into her voice.

“I gave you the wrong impression, didn’t I?” He shakes his head. “I don’t care about every tragedy I see. Takes a hard heart. But I’m not heartless. I’m not going to let a couple of fresh fevered kids throw themselves at the world when you — literally! — can’t cast a spell to save your life.”

“So come with us, then,” Makuja says. “They can be the bait, and you and I will be the teeth of the trap.”

“I don’t work for free. Right now, the extent of the problem is some howls in the air at night. Direhound hasn’t attacked anyone besides yourself, and you say it’s got a special grudge against you. There’s easier prey in those woods, and I think the dog will do the smart thing, at least till it catches a whiff of you. Boleheva will be back tomorrow, and there’s nothing breathing down our necks to do something tonight. Relax a little — would think you three would be anxious for beds after shades stuck in the wild.”

Yanseno starts toward the door. Behind him, Awelah is mumbling. (Her voice is quiet, but can he hear anyway?) “Does someone have to die before you’ll do anything?”

Ooliri climbs down the trap door. The tavern, with a shuttered look from shafts of sunlight, has a bug sitting at almost every table. The whole room seems to pause when the vesperbanes enter, heads turning, voices quieting. The mood is… expectant. Do they think we’ll do something?

The quiet means they hear the distant patter of steps, see a green nymph climbing up from downstairs. With timing that perfect… Ooliri frowns.

“Did she know when we’d arrive?”

In front of him, Yanseno glances back to reveal a quirked palp. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Nouspell?”

Yan clicks mandibles, then nods. “No need to answer if you’re quick enough to figure it out yourself, ha.”

The pale nymph is beside Ooliri. “You said you could read minds,” Awelah says. “Does that mean you know that — know what I’m thinking?”

Yanseno points at a spinner ant. That one is draped in cloth, colorful stands woven across the surface of the cloth, but it’s… hugging? kissing? It’s touching another ant, and there’s no convenient sheet to read off of. “Way the myweft is woven means something. Can you tell me what it says?”

“No.”

“But you can see it, can’t you? Make out the different strands and symbols? Why not tell me what it means?”

“I don’t understand antscript.”

“Every mind is its own language,” Yanseno concludes. “Being a connectique means being a code breaker for a script with no translator. I’m not bad at it, give me a few sessions and I could answer your question — but like I keep saying, I charge by the hour.”

Awelah breathes out at that.

“Still, don’t need any special insight to know you plan on sneaking out tonight, right?”

The green nymph has crossed the distance, stands before the maverick with a smile now giving way to puzzlement. “Why’s that?” Quessa asks.

“Awelah still wants to risk her life against a direhound for no good reason, and I haven’t prevailed sense on her.”

She glances at the pale nymph and gives her a smile. “That sounds heroic!”

“Not if it’s ineffective and unnecessary,” Yanseno says.

Quessa tilts her head. “What if I helped?”

A sigh, almost completely muffled by his trenchcoat. “Not you too.”

The green nymph frowns, but before she can reply, her gaze lowers, looking past the imago. At the entrance he stepped through a moment ago, a new bug is at their heels. Quessa smiles.

“Bites Water, was it?” says the maverick. Looking back at the girl, he says, “This one was asking about you earlier.”

“Right,” she says. “There’s something you can help me with, in fact! But,” — she looks at Awelah — “I should probably show you your room? They didn’t have one with more than two beds, so there’s a cot—”

“Not it,” Awelah says.

“Nor I,” Makuja says.

They both look to Ooliri, his golden antennae twisting. “Can we rotate, at least?”

Yanseno, having lost interest in the conversation or seizing the opportunity to ditch the nymphs, has stepped over towards the bar where a dirt-red mantis glances up. “Looks like I’ll need something with energy,” he starts.

After that, Ooliri turns to see the green nymph waving to him — she and the other girls have slowly started walking, and the ant steps along with antennae working. They advance and there’s silence, at least until they reach the ramp, and then Quessa is whispering.

“I can maybe help you three sneak out, if you still want to. But if we do this… I can’t tell you the plan.”

“Why not?”

“Yanseno can’t read my mind, and I’ll know if he tries. It’s safer! Also, I can be cool and mysterious. All the strongest vesperbanes have secrets,” she says.

“So we just have to trust that you mean it and you’re not just going to tell him behind our backs.”

“He’s not your dad. If he finds out, he’ll stop you, and he’s already stopping you, so what’s the worry? He isn’t going to ground you if you get caught.”

“But will he ground you?” Ooliri asks.

They turn down a bend in the tunnels beneath the inn, passing by doorways — one is open just a crack. Quessa keeps moving in the lead. “Maybe. But if we pull this off, won’t he be proud? I think he can’t be too mad if we take down a direhound. You will be able to take it down, right?”

Ooliri frowns, antennae folding unsure, and to his surprise, Makuja mirrored his uncertainty. She gave no obvious tell (of course she wouldn’t), her antennae still and her eyes steady. But her hands closed into fists and she gives no answer.

Awelah says, “Of course. You have that spell you used to paralyze the anteater, right?

Quessa stops walking, but it’s because they’ve reached their room. She opens the door, then passes off the key.

She glances to the One Who Bites Water, who has been following in the very back, a little awkwardly. “Wait out here, okay?”

The ant chirps, walking forward and poking the green nymph with an antenna. The chirps continue into a stream as this one bends feelers back to point at the sheet. Because this one is facing Quessa, they can’t read what’s said. Quessa is nodding. For the benefit of the other nymphs — Ooliri’s palps are about to buzz with questions, she explains, “The ant librarian invited me to speak with them. I think that’s significant? Though it’s unclear if it’s a friendly visit, or business.” She shakes her head. “But that’s not important right now. C’mon, I’ll show you the room.”

The hinges creak as their door opens. The interior is bright with the blue glow of Ngini’s light — a Stewartry standard. Not surprising that a vesperbane could buy it. But what did the other patrons use for light? Ooliri wonders. Torches? Lanterns? Would smoke be an issue? Or maybe there are more slits for sunlight.

“I left your bags inside, but… there’s something important I’m forgetting.”

Ooliri gives them a once over. “Well, you didn’t lose any of the bags? So it’s not that.”

“Why is that one open?” Makuja says.

“Mogs attacked you,” Awelah says as the red nymph pads over to the bags sitting on a crooked table.

“Master’s blood is gone,” Makuja announces.

From the look in her eye, how deftly her fingers close the bag as she’s not looking, head snapping around with speed to track Quessa’s anxious steps backward — her hands are empty, but there didn’t need to be knifes there for the threat to be present.

“I don’t think Quessa is at fault,” Ooliri says, interposing himself between Quessa and Makuja. “It must have been chaotic, stressful and happened so fast Boleheva would have taken her away before Quessa could say anything. Right?”

Quessa gives the nod of one petrified. Her palps don’t move, like she can’t bring herself to say anything. She raises her tarsi, starts making signs.

Makuja starts forward at this, but Ooliri lifts his bandaged arm to block her. He shakes his head at the frowning nymph. Ooliri recognized the signs, the aura flowing toward her head.

Awelah interjects, then, “She said she forgot something important. Sounds like she would have told us if she had remembered.”

“It doesn’t add up. She’s taught by Yanseno, who forgets what he wants to forget.”

“I’m still learning! I’m just not as advanced as I should be, please believe me! I’m… trying.”

Makuja frowns. Quessa cringes inward at the expression, so she turns her frown toward Awelah. “You propose Mogs took it. Yet what use would she have for fiend blood?”

“I’ll help you get it back! I promise.”

“Start by helping us hunt the direhound,” Awelah says. “You were telling us what you brought to the table. There’s that stunning spell — anything else? Can you read minds like that maverick claims he can?”

“I don’t really know anything about nouprojection, sorry.” (Ooliri quirks an antenna, but no one is looking at him.) “Yanseno says people will trust me more if I keep it that way.”

“Well, you can’t do much with direbeast’s heads anyway. They don’t have nous like bugs do.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Awelah waves. “Anything else?”

“I could… get some supplies? Yanseno has a lot of them. But… I need a plan. So… could you tell me about this direhound? What exactly are we going to heroically slay?”

Awelah and Makuja start talking at the same time. They stop, look at each other, and Ooliri takes that moment to begin. Quessa smiles at him.

Quessa left them to go consult with Bites Water in her room. She returned half an hour later, said nothing about the plan, only carrying them plates of food Yanseno had ordered for them. Honeyloaf, hippo meat, bitter-skinned tubers and fungal sacs dripping with slim. It was about as much food as a growing nymph would eat in one day, not one meal. But they are vesperbanes — the vespers had to eat, too.

So, while Team Duskborn waited to hear anything substantive from their accomplice, Makuja perched on the edge of her bed, eyes pale, antennae drooped, and breathing regular. Each inhale drew air into her air sacs, as the breath flows through the branching throats that lined her body.

Makuja’s thoughts are like a river, flowing yet no boat navigated across the waters. Only a natural course.

Her heart beats, not faster, but slower and slower. She feels the weight of food in her gut as it melts bit by bit — how much had bat blood already warped it? Thanks to it, she knew, her digestion is faster, more efficient as it turned food into more energy. Faster, efficient, but its most important adaptations were not for her sake.

Makuja slowly bends her tarsi into signs which are not the signs of nervecasting nor the signs of bloodletting. It belongs to the third vespertine art: rootnursing.

Master had taught her arete-binding so long ago. The first step is relinquishing a portion of the meal just consumed, and granting it to your guests. These signs she made now are an invitation to begin.

Once accepted, formation begins. Now, her heartbeat accelerates as the vespers call upon the metabolism of red ichor to fuel the ritual.

Simultaneously required is a process that is only analogous to breathing, but identical to the ritual which renewed her enervate after depletion: beta condensation, in which the umbra diffused within the air is drawn into her core as if by invisible inhalation. Tarsigns unfold, and her coils shape themselves, vibrating with sparse dustings from her enervate stores, and she feels the coldness come. Just like dew from a cloud collector.

⸢Vesper form: Arete-binding!⸥

It is the marriage of life and death, even as evening marries day and night. The vital warmth of bat blood and the deathly chill of black nerve, unified and intermixed, the reaction yielding dense fat held within the vesper’s roots. Arete, the fuel of a bane’s every spell.

Makuja takes a deep breathing once more, and begins the signs anew, starting a second casting. She doesn’t even get a chance to finish the first step.

Quessa’s knock is loud and hurried.

Through the door, they hear, “Yanseno wants to see you, now.”

Awelah gets the door, because Ooliri is just now looking from his book. At the threshold, Quessa is bouncing from foot to foot. “I promise this isn’t part of the plan. I don’t know what’s going on.”

Awelah folds her raptorials closed. As Quessa turns to leave, the pale nymph gives one look backward. “Coming?”

Makuja is already on her feet, and is second out of the room. She wonders if she’s imagining some disappointment as the enervate from her aborted ritual is withdrawn from her coils.

“There the demons are! What foulness have you come to wreak upon this town? Don’t think your utter mischief has gone unnoticed.”

A loathsomely familiar pointy hat is present when they ascend the ramp. She’s jabbing a foreleg in their direction as if Yanseno were not already looking right at them.

Makauja calculates if she could throw a knife and knock the hat clean off. If something’s securing it, perhaps it’d take a fair amount of force.

“Look, give them a chance to speak,” they hear the maverick say as they cross over the distancce. “Do they even know what you’re accusing them of?”

“They must know very well! That something this unseemly has occurred the very day we suffered a doubling of your number is evidence as clear as crystal! I won’t be taken as a fool.”

“Since she’s not explaining,” he starts, “I’ll get you up to speed. There’s been a break-in — vandals struck at the church, trashed the place, and… remind me, was anything stolen?”

“I would have to check and thoroughly. I came as soon as I saw — lest this trial go quiet and these miscreants evade capture.”

“Right, so that’s the story. The Wisterun Church of Blue Welkin — which, I remind, is all the way on the other end of northside — was vandalized. Do any of you know anything about that?”

“You’re asking them?” Tempit says, throwing up forelegs. “Do you not have percipient training? I was led to believe you did. So seize the confessions from their minds.”

“I’m watching them right now. Utter bafflement is all I see.” He looks to the green nymph standing to the side. “What about you, Quessa? Is this what you get up to when I’m not looking?”

“No, sir, of course not!”

“Right. These aren’t who you’re looking for, sorry to disappoint, madam. I’m afraid you’ll need to keep looking for a reason to get rid of them.”

“Can you not apprehend them until we’ve established the truth?”

“Sorry, but they’re not even suspects. Tell me, did you look for footprints, ask around for witnesses, anything? That’s where you’ll want to start.”

“You’re the much-vaunted investigator we’re paying so much. On behalf of Wisterun I bid you to find the ones responsible.”

Yanseno looks between the nymphs and the hierophant.

Behind Makuja, Ooliri makes his way forward with a finger raised as if to add something.

“Drop it, kid. Don’t think you’ll make anything better, no matter what you could say.”

Ooliri droops.

Addressing the rest of them, Yanseno says, “Look, don’t go anywhere while I’m gone, okay? As you can see, you’re making trouble for me without even doing anything.”

As Tempit leads him off, she speaks with the tone, if not the volume, of a mutter. “Boleheva will regret what he’s brought today.”

Imagos gone, three eyes turn toward Quessa.

“I wasn’t lying! I really had nothing to do with this. The plan I hatched with Bites Water was for that one to convince the ant librarian to come and personally ask for our presence — that’s how I thought we’d get past Yanseno. The ants are grateful, but they wouldn’t commit crimes for me.”

“I believe you,” Ooliri says.

“Do you have any idea who would break into the church? Would a church even be locked?”

“Why assume anyone did? Perhaps she vandalized it herself to frame us.”

“That seems, well, like a lot of trouble for something that wouldn’t work.”

“Yeah,” Quessa says. “Yanseno would see right through it.”

“Doesn’t matter. We were all here in the tavern, so it has nothing to do with us, right?” Awelah says, and the rest of team duskborn nods. “So, what’s our next step?”

Quessa taps her palps together for a moment, then answers, “Bites Water told me about a passage through the tunnels of hillside that will let us get out without being seen at the gate.”

“Right, so if we don’t find the direhound, we can get back here and no one will know we left.”

Outside, night has fallen. Four nymphs depart, to brave the wilds of the heartlands, and no one else will know where they are.