Frirn, Fir of Julyla: 33 Xiven

This morning, Kayin wrung a piece of parchment between his hands, twisting his own notes to match the awful nerves in his stomach. Talking to Ivar about what he’d been up to the past four months, explaining all his research and reasoning for approaching him today of all days—that somehow felt less terrifying than walking next to Fero right now.

To even get to this point, where they locked the door to their home and made their way to Ivar’s Speedy Stitch, was only because Karsarath stayed his anger long enough to listen to Kayin’s full rundown of the plan just hours after their awful dinner. After refining a few points, he took the notes to Fero; and, even though she burnt the paper to a crisp with a wave of her hand, she did eventually find a new piece of paper to re-write the sum of Kayin’s thoughts and Karsarath’s corrections in a vague code. She didn’t need to be dramatic about it, but she was right in her silent protest for Kayin’s blatant observations. This plan they’d created over the past four months did require a little more tact, especially for a single document that connected Tornah’s legal and protection system to a conspiracy about corruption.

It only took an hour to decipher what she’d done, which was unusual for Fero. With so much of her life hidden in criminal circles, her street smarts was hard to beat, and she liked to challenge Kayin whenever he wasn’t studying herbalism or swordsmanship. But this puzzle wasn’t to help teach him the several ways people could hold secret conversations in public. The solution to this one just spelled out a word he’d never seen before, that Karsarath revealed was, “Just a silly insult.” Based on the laughter, though, it was probably something much worse than being called an “idiot.”

Still, Fero held back. She didn’t laugh like Karsarath did, and it was clear in her additions to their plans that she made a habit of keeping some things to herself…like how she knew the organized crime in Tornah went by the name the Shadow Stalkers when until now, Kayin and Karsarath were under the impression that crime wasn’t organized enough to become a full business here.

Her cipher joke cracked through Karsarath’s frustration and made ending the night tolerable, but neither of them offered conversation during breakfast. Karsarath didn’t seem to be very mad anymore, but he kept glancing over to Fero, as if asking for instructions on what to do next. And when she looked back at him, it was always fleeting—except for when she thought Kayin wasn’t looking.

After breakfast, Kayin went upstairs to grab his wrist blade and a jacket, just in case. But as he stood at the top of the stairs, adjusting his sleeve to cover the leather straps of his secret dagger, the silence in the home felt different. This was one of those moments he never got to see, those conversations Fero and Karsarath held whenever he wasn’t around. Rather than going down the stairs, he bent his knees enough to see down the steps, to where Fero and Karsarath waited for him.

Karsarath was easy to read. Soft eyes, furrowed brows. Asking her how she felt by only a quick purse of his lips. And Fero, after scowling at him for a full second, slowly let his stare melt her into a long, sad sigh. The woman that embraced and embodied fire in every way dwindled to a gentle ember, just like that. Just because Karsarath genuinely wanted to know how she felt, and she didn’t have to pretend in front of him.

These moments rushed at Kayin like a breeze. Eye-opening and fascinating, like stepping into an unknown forest. In that instant, everything felt crisp and clear: Karsarath was an expert at deciphering feelings, and Fero was an expert at being whatever was needed. With Dhekk gone, she was Tidesa’s stand-in. She was the fuel to the next pieces of Tidesa’s visions, even if she didn’t know how to be. And for Kayin to strip her of that power, to blindside her and put the plan in jeopardy, was a betrayal. With how she admired Tidesa, too…. Fero’s disappointment in Kayin would hardly hold a candle to Tidesa’s disappointment in Fero.

The shift in perspective gave him whiplash, and he reacted by shifting his weight from one foot to another. As the wood creaked beneath his weight, Kayin swore at himself. In an instant, Fero’s scowl returned, and she stared up at him from the base of the stairs.

She spat, “We actually doing this, or no?”

“R-ready,” was his response as he stumbled his way to her side.

Other than desperately wanting Ivar to agree to what Kayin wanted to ask him, his heart pounded in anticipation. Even if the hot air didn’t call for it, he would have been sweating before he poked the bell hanging on Ivar’s open door.

“Oh, good morning!” the man called from somewhere unseen. “Be right there!”

Maybe it was better Ivar was in the other room. As the trio stepped inside, Karsarath trailed behind, clutching the bell into silence in his fist as he gently pulled the door shut. Karsarath was known for being a persuasive and caring individual; and though he kept his fighting skills confined behind their home’s walls, he couldn’t hide his knowledge if the topic ever came up around him. He couldn’t stay silent about his passion, and even though it wasn’t his intention; this un-displayed expertise gave an air of danger to him. Plus, Fero was passionate and people would see her walk the streets every dawn and dusk to light the street lamps; someone who controlled fire wasn’t someone to cross.

As Ivar’s footsteps approached from the side doorway, Kayin tried his best to give a friendly smile.

The man’s face was as pale as the mannequins covered in pins and scrap fabric he now stood beside.

“What’s—what’s going on?” he stammered.

“Sorry—that’s, um,” Kayin started as he gestured to the closed door, “because I need your help and I was really hoping to talk to you in private.” The paper crinkled loudly in his fist. Ivar blinked. He and Kayin had a decent relationship; they greeted each other when they ran into the market, and Ivar even gave Kayin a free shirt when one of his custom orders got canceled. To look as innocent and agreeable as possible, Kayin donned the gifted green fabric under his jacket.

“H-help you,” Ivar eventually echoed. His skin found its clay-like color again, but he didn’t relax.

“Yes. And I think it’ll really help you, and everyone in this district, too.” Kayin glanced over his shoulder. “And you know Karsarath and Fero. They’re—well—” He shrugged and smiled to each of them, even though Fero remained stoic. “I think you’ll agree when we explain that they’re going to save a lot of lives.” Fero’s raised brows brought a ghost of similarity to the vulnerable frown she gave Karsarath earlier.

Ivar relented, and invited the trio into his workshop room to sit on various stools he fetched from other parts of the shop.

“Well?” egged on Ivar. Kayin unfolded his paper, and glanced down to it.

“So, um…. Do you remember when you told me about how you got robbed last year? Right after you paid taxes on your inventory?” At first, the shop owner looked between Karsarath and Fero, all but asking what they had to do with it. “Karsarath and Fero,” Kayin continued carefully, “heard really similar things from a lot of other shops. All robbed, all right after paying taxes on inventory…in a particular order around the city.”

“What?” Ivar’s eyes widened; though he could never have a fully straight back, he was probably the closest he’d ever get at his age from that reaction.

Kayin looked to the paper in his hands, and began to read:

“Hummingdew Entertainment Party, Gems Unlimited, Sailighting Sailing Goods, The Dream’s Blossom…there’s a dozen, here.” He handed the paper to Ivar so he could read the rest, himself. “And they were all robbed, in order of when their taxes were collected, heading down this very street.”

“How—how have I not heard this?” Ivar asked in disbelief. “I—I thought I was the only one….”

“You remember what was stolen, right?” was Kayin’s leading question. Ivar didn’t look up from the list. “The three most valuable items your store owned, and one thing not listed in your inventory. Probably something you wouldn’t want others to know about.” In Sailighting Sailing Goods, Kayin learned through the owner’s arguments with her husband that keeping love letters from his affairs was stupid in the first place, and the fact that they had to pay ransom to get them back was even worse.

“Ivar,” Kayin continued, “I don’t know what they took from you, but I know that it’s happened to everyone else. Be it—” People feel closer to those that help them save face, Karsarath said during one of their interviews. Kayin shrugged. “Maybe it’s jewelry from your grandmother, or the first garment you sewed. They take one personal, valuable thing, and ransom you in able to get more money out of you.” It was hard to imagine what sort of unsavory thing Ivar could want hidden, but then again, Kayin wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Although a bead of sweat dripped from one of Ivar’s remaining clumps of hair, no more fell. He nearly resembled someone about to faint as he handed Kayin’s page back to him.

“I—I—why are you coming to me with this? Not a guard?” A genius at making stylish shirts, sure. Someone of average ability to draw connections to very convenient coincidences, maybe not. Maybe he didn’t fully comprehend the gravity of a city official being connected to organized robberies and ransoms.

“I was hoping you’d testify with me,” said Kayin awkwardly. “And, um…so, you saw this list….” Kayin folded it up to put it into his jacket pocket. “And, um, maybe you might remember where those shops are, and…how you paid taxes last week.”

Ivar physically jumped up from his chair, now, scraping the foot of the stool against the floor.

“No! You can’t be thinking I’m going to get robbed again?”

Kayin nodded. “Hummingdew was robbed last month for the second time.” That one was a little more well-known because of how furious the owners were the next morning. They could probably hear their shouting all the way in Urbana.

“What—what can I do?” Ivar’s voice took a desperate edge. “I—I can’t—I can’t fight, I can’t lose anything else—oh, what am I going to tell Hila?” Kayin doubted his less-than-gentle wife would handle being humiliated with ransom again very well.

Impatient, Fero cleared her throat, prompting for Kayin to push the conversation further.

“I—well, Ivar, I just had a couple questions, and then I was really hoping to try and stop your shop from being robbed in the first place.” Another shy smile. Ivar didn’t seem to understand. “Um, when you were first robbed, did you notice any…fog?”

“F-fog?” he echoed in disbelief. “No, why?”

“Did you catch sight of who stole from you?”

“Um, sort of, but they wore dark clothes, and were large, so I didn’t run after them….”

Kayin glanced to Karsarath, then shrugged before continuing, “Because the past four or five robberies all involved thick fog that followed someone short and fast. Still the same timing, just a different person.”

“Oh, a partner!” realized Ivar.

Kayin somehow managed to adjust his dumbfounded expression to one of excitement. All of that, all this organization and planning, and Ivar couldn’t comprehend more than two criminals. Kayin didn’t voice this, just nodded. “So you understand, they need to be stopped,” he said. “I was hoping you’d let us stake out your shop for the next few days, after closing time, in secret. We want to capture the thief and take them to the council to answer for their crimes.”

“Oh!” The man looked between the three of them, eyes wide. “W-why me? And—isn’t that super dangerous? If there’s fog, how will you know you have them?” Fero stifled some sort of irritation by pretending to cough. Kayin didn’t dare address the near slip-up.

“You’re my friend, Ivar!” said Kayin with a hand on his chest to try and seem more genuine. “This has to stop!” Not the sole reason, but Ivar was a gentle old man. If helping him helped put a stop to a crime syndicate and persuade the Council of Tornah to side with them against Empress Xiven, there was everything to win and nothing to lose.

“But it’s too dangerous—” Somehow, even with this man’s protests about danger, Karsarath managed to bite back his pride and remain completely silent about being an expert fighter.

Fero, though, wasn’t quite so disciplined. She leaned forward on her stool, her voice cracking through her clenched teeth: “Ivar. Hi, we don’t really know each other. But you know what I do, right? You see me every morning and every night light the streets?” Ivar stared, still not understanding. As a demonstration, she held out her hand, and prompted some more questions: “Fog is made of wet air. What gets rid of fog?” A small, controlled flame grew from the veins of her hand, dancing just an inch tall at her whim. “Heat.” The flame disappeared, and Fero dropped her hand to continue walking Ivar to the end of their proposal. “And if everyone has seen your face, you’re not going to get to steal, are you?” Not to mention the additional preparations they had been making in anticipation for this plan that gave them an edge.

“Oh!” sounded Ivar with a slow gasp. Finally, a smile grew and revealed the few teeth he still had. The flame in Fero’s hand was gone, but still seemed to light Ivar’s eyes with excitement. “Yes! Yes, stay in my shop whenever you’d like! Catch this piece of trash and make him pay for his crimes!”

Kayin laughed with him. “Exactly! Whoever’s exploiting everyone is going to have to face the justice of the Council!” Publicly turned into the authorities, with promise to take out the corruption that led to this in the first place, Tornah was primed to become the first official ally to their cause.