Haol took seven days to refine his qi, and Mumu five. They both already had access to mana magic, so a portion of Yuki was suddenly free to be placed elsewhere.

Mumu approached Miri to let her know Teila might—

But Mumu didn’t even finish explaining; Miri jumped in by saying, “Yes. Do it. Whatever it takes.”

Miri wasn’t an idiot—she’d seen how my team was monopolizing Ikfael’s Boon before making it officially available through the tournament—and her response was instant and absolute.

Our cover story was that Ikfael had a few extra slots at the beginning that she wanted to use for my team, and Miri was unwavering in her desire to claim one for Teila. The speed at which she’d given her permission shocked me.

I mean, only good would come from it, but we’d been vague in describing the process’s details to everyone, including the members of our lodge. Miri had no idea what was involved. Although, in all fairness, Mumu would never do anything to harm Teila, and neither would Ikfael. From that perspective, Miri agreement demonstrated her trust in them both.

It made me a bit sad, though.

Still, we cheered when Teila refined her qi after five days, and we celebrated with a party when she gained access to mana magic three days later. For the record, it was Nature Magic that resonated with Teila the most.

###

In the meantime, the city buzzed with activity. By this point in the year, all the nearby villages and towns were done with their harvests, and the produce that wasn’t being saved for winter was brought to Albei for the autumn festival. The same was true for meat. The animals not likely to survive the winter were slaughtered, and the excess brought to Albei.

Artisans scrambled to prepare for the festival too—their workshops in high gear. The ones traveling to Albei claimed their spots in the Butchery, the market expanding to quintuple its normal size. As for the artisans who resided in the city, they hung gray and green ribbons outside their shops and placed figurines of Agraza the Green and Gray beside their doors.

Agraza was the goddess of fertility. One interesting fact I learned about her—a shocking one, actually—was that her blessing was a curse: anyone who abused the gift of fertility was instantly struck barren and their genitalia withered.

Apparently, in the ancient days of this world, there’d been those who’d attempted to breed human beings for their talents, treating them like livestock, and that’d offended the goddess. So, now people were more careful about consent.

In any case, Uncle Kila became a frequent visitor during this time. His whole family mobilized to get the tournament organized, and every single member was needed, even his nephew Kuta who played messenger when Kila himself wasn’t available.

We quickly learned that any help I might’ve offered was counterproductive. The one and only time I tagged along with Kila, the carpenter family we were visiting refused to let us into their shop. Without my presence, another family met with him, but told him they wouldn’t work on anything related to the tournament.

I’d thought to have stands built so that an audience could watch the fighters, but every artisan family was the same, and we had to give up on the plan. The Healer’s Lodge had made their displeasure known. Anyone supporting the tournament risked their wrath.

My idea to print flyers? Squashed, because no one was willing to work with us, and our marketing was forced to depend entirely on word of mouth. We couldn’t even entice any of the street vendors to buy licenses to sell food and drink. As it was, the audience would have to bring their own, which was too bad because the extra income would’ve been a nice bonus.

Fortunately, Albei’s hunters had rights to the area around their lodge, and Silasenei rented the space to us in exchange for a discount on the entry fee for her people. The alchemists also came on board to heal anyone injured during the proceedings. They charged a fee for their presence, with the cost of any potions or elixirs used added on top.

Uncle Kila’s family agreed to handle all the upfront costs, for a fee, and if the amount wasn’t paid back in full by the end of the tournament, it’d be added onto our loan—three eistaak to paid over a period of ten years at ten percent interest per year. The terms weren’t as bad as they could’ve been, and the family was already risking a lot just working with us.

Still, my expectation was that we’d pay off the loan well in advance of the due date. Assuming the tournament was a success, which it should be. Or that was what I kept telling myself.

We were a week out from the festival—thirteen days from the tournament’s start—and we still didn’t have any entrants. Silasenei’s hunters promised to participate, as did some of the alchemists, soldiers, and land soldiers, but the booth we’d set up to register people had yet to see a single visitor.

Speaking of which, the booth was built by a carpenter who didn’t know who he was working for. The same was true for a pavilion being prepared offsite. We couldn’t have Honored Ikfael just sitting on a cushion out in the open during the tournament. No, she needed the pomp due to a respected and powerful spirit of the land—a special place from which to observe the fights.

Kila’s family used an intermediary to commission both the booth and pavilion.

As my team became available, they threw themselves into the effort—disguising themselves to talk up the tournament around the city. The closer we came to the festival’s start, the fuller the taverns and inns became. We started to see people from Ganas and Sugrusu arrive, and those folks didn’t have to worry about our local politics. We hoped they’d take advantage of the opportunity the tournament provided.

###

The day before the festival, I was perched atop the Hunter’s Lodge keeping an eye on the hidden watchers spread out across the plaza. There were seven in total, with a couple appearing to be from the Healer’s Lodge, one each from the soldiers and alchemists, and the others were of uncertain origin.

And all they did was watch, tucked into their shadowed corners or pretending to be attendees at the pre-festival market. Their talents gave them away though, and the way their spirits sharpened whenever anyone approached our booth.

Two days prior, a drunk had come up to the booth, and for a moment I’d thought we had our first registrant, but he’d only wanted to know why it was there. When he’d learned it was for the tournament, he stumbled away in a panic, and the watchers had all relaxed.

In addition to the hidden folks, there were also the festival’s attendees ogling our booth, and it wasn’t unusual to see people pointing, their heads together to exchange gossip. I did my best to contain my annoyance. People were people, and they weren’t even the source of my real anxiety.

No, my stomach was awash in acid, filled to the brim with worry, because there’d been no sign of any of our promised allies. My mind conjured scenarios where we were the victims of some intricate conspiracy among them. Even Sheedi, who’d had unshakeable faith in our own schemes, was looking peaked. She stood below, alongside Tegen at the booth—the two of them waiting, waiting, and waiting some more.

We were at the point where I seriously considered whether we should relax the tournament’s rules to allow people in our employ to participate. That would at least open a path for Agath, Moon, and the Kila family guards. All we needed was someone, anyone, to be the first crack in the dam erected by the Healer’s Lodge. I was convinced that there’d be a flood of entries once people saw it was possible to resist them.

Speaking of which... I spotted Vorkut the Master Healer on a horse accompanying a wagon driven by Uncle Kila? What?

I enchanted my eyes for a better look and saw Vorkut’s stormy face. Uncle Kila was usually hard to read, but he looked mulish, his brows down and his gaze determinedly forward, not once glancing aside to the healer sternly lecturing him.

Kila was accompanied by a handful of his family guards, but none of them dared to interfere. All they could do was steadfastly ignore the master healer with his own contingent of guards.

For a moment, I watched the unhappy parade’s approach, and then my brain caught up to what my eyes were seeing, and I blazed downstairs with Dog’s Agility, ducking under and weaving through the hunters in my way. I raised a commotion behind me, and I dimly noted how I picked up my own train. The hunters had a sixth sense for drama.

I burst out the lodge’s doors and caught sight of both Mumu and Haol also converging on Kila’s wagon. Vorkut brought his horse to a stop as soon as he spotted their approach, and his guards arrayed themselves around him in a defensive formation. Uncle Kila kept going, but his shoulders didn’t relax until Mumu and Haol were able to join him. I was only a beat slower leaping aboard, climbing over the lumber and stacks of brightly colored cloth to find a perch in the back.

Behind us, Vorkut turned his horse around, and his guards retreated with him. None of the hidden watchers had moved to interfere, although the crowd of looky-loos grew, including all the hunters who’d spilled out of the lodge to watch the show. I let myself settle back and realized that Ikfael’s pavilion was being delivered.

I scanned the crowds again, and when I didn’t see any threats, I looked over the materials: The planks and poles were milled from oak. The nails were iron and straight enough. The cloth was thick, oiled, and striped in green, gray, and blue.

A bundle of hammers lay on top, and next to them was a rolled-up design—a sketch really—for a raised, covered platform with cloth walls. There’d be slit and flaps in the front that could be tied open to act as an entrance and to allow Ikfael to observe the tournament. Or the flaps could be tied closed for privacy.

The design was simple, practical, and probably the best Kila could do given the healers’ opposition. We’d just have to decorate it beautifully; Ikfael deserved at least that much.

Still, the advantage of a simple design was that even a bunch of amateurs could do the work, and we assembled the pavilion over the next four hours. It would’ve gone faster, but the hunters we’d pressed into service were a talkative bunch. They’d also insisted on breaking twice to go get festival snacks.

Still, we were lucky they’d considered it an honor to help build the pavilion for Ikfael. They’d chattered with excitement too about the contest ahead, and yet none of them had registered. When I’d asked them why, they’d shut their mouths and glanced at each other with knowing looks.

It was my first real clue that something was cooking in the background.

###

That evening, Knight Otter walked from the inn to the Hunter’s Lodge, ostensibly to look over the pavilion we’d built, but the real goal was to drum up interest in the tournament. All the Voorhei hunters escorted her in a slow, dignified procession, and people bowed as she passed, none of them realizing that the real Ikfael was inside the stone figurine I carried in my hands. Still, the procession did its job—it wasn’t every day that an otter-faced, water person walked the streets of Albei.

Honestly, Knight Otter was magical. Yes, pedantically literally magical, but it was also in the way the firelight shone against the jewel-like blues and blacks of her clothing, the flint of her eyes and stone gray of her fur. Sometimes the light reflected off the water; sometimes it shone through. And she’d gotten so skilled controlling Knight Otter’s movements—it was as if she was a real, living being, even subtly breathing.

People followed to watch, although always from the sides. To walk directly behind us implied support, and no one was willing to do that. Not yet, anyway.

I prayed with all my might for that “not yet” part.

Fires dotted the plaza, as early revelers gathered on the festival’s eve. Singers and musicians competed to be heard over each other, while dancers in beaded buckskin and feathered capes spread through the crowds to demonstrate their skills. An acting troupe had even set up a small stage in one corner.

We made a stir, our little group, and more and more people accumulated to watch us pass. We must’ve looked like a ship cutting through the sea.

Knight Otter’s even and measured steps carried her forward as if it was she and she alone who occupied the plaza. The actors should’ve discarded their own play to come watch her masterful performance. She’d gotten that good.

Eventually, the ship of our procession arrived at the pavilion, and Knight Otter stepped up onto its platform. Two lit braziers to either side illuminated her as she looked over the furnishings we’d borrowed from Uncle Kila’s family—the gold stitched cushions, the mahogany table, the teapot and cups carved from lapis lazuli—and then she turned to face the crowd that’d formed. With a graceful motion, she gestured for me to come up beside her and to say a few words in greeting.

I blinked twice, the time needed for the words to register. What?

The crowd had seen the signs as clearly as I had; they turned their attention to me. I glared at Knight Otter: What are you doing?

Then, I realized I was looking at the wrong person. I turned the figurine in my hands, so that Ikfael could see my face. Which didn’t matter, because she was one with the stone and could look in any direction she wanted.

Knight Otter smiled kindly, humoring the shy child, and waved me up onto the platform. Well, improv had never been my thing, but I wasn’t going to spoil Ikfael’s show. I took a breath to get my panic under control, and when that didn’t work, jumped into Yuki.

Our body loosened, even as our thoughts raced. It took too little time to step onto the platform as instructed, so we gazed out at the crowd meaningfully, appearing to consider our words carefully, which we did—only at a much faster paced than we let on.

“Our Honored Ikfael greets you all.” Our child’s voice was inadequate to the task, so we cast Bear’s Strength to increase the power of our lungs and diaphragm. “Our Honored Ikfael greets you all, and she wishes you well on the eve of this year’s autumn festival. May your harvests have been plentiful and your hunting bounteous.”

The crowd whispered and shifted, like a single organism made of many parts. Briefly, we felt a kinship with them, and our voice warmed as we desired to put them at ease. Our’s and Ikfael’s actions confused the people—uncertainty rippled among their spirits—since very few of them had ever seen a spirit of the land behave in this way before.

“For centuries, Honored Ifkael has provided for the people of Voorhei. Now, her wisdom spurs her to extend that goodwill to Albei too. She offers, through contests of skill and arms, opportunities for the winners to deepen the wells of their qi, to learn how to wield mana.”

Surprised murmurs arose from the crowd. Despite our best efforts, not everyone had heard the news.

“Ikfael’s Boon, that is the prize’s name, and a boon it truly is for who among us doesn’t understand the beauty, the potential, the power of magic?”

Almost as if we’d planned it in advance, Ikfael launched a ball of rainbow-colored water into the sky. High above the crowd, the ball burst like a firework, and the colors danced and circled in an amazing display of her control.

We had to force our eyes to look away from the waterwork and focus on the audience. “The tournament will begin in three days. In this way, Honored Ikfael opens her hands to you. Will you seize the chance she offers?”

All at once, the dancing streamers of water flowed toward us, and we held our own hands up to receive them. The sight must’ve been a fantastic one, a wonderful trick. The audience didn’t have to know that it was Ikfael inside the figurine storing the water once more in her Hoarder’s Pocket.

That was as good a closing as we’d get, so we turned to lead Knight Otter into the pavilion. Before we could enter, though, a muffled voice yelled from the crowd.

“Is it true Honored Ikfael can teach a spell to heal?”

Who in the crowd knew of Healing Water? The people from Voorhei all stood adjacent to the pavilion, and the hunters of the Albei’s lodge knew about the spell, as did Kila’s family and my bodyguards. There was no need for any of them to ask the question. Perhaps it was someone wondering why the Healer’s Lodge caused us so much trouble...

Well, whatever the reason, the answer was the same: “Yes, this is a truth. Honored Ikfael can teach those who can use mana to cast a spell that heals injuries and cures poisons. The spirit of the land is the spell’s originator, and she makes it available to those willing to trade for it.”

An angry voice from a different part of the audience yelled, “The Healer’s Lodge will oppose any who learn this spell.”

Other voices from different spots agreed, shouting their own opposition.

Our anger arose at the realization that the healers had agents within the crowd, and we paused before replying to comfort Ollie/Eight. His distaste for monopolies colored our thinking.

“The healers may oppose whoever or whatever they wish. However, the spell is still being contested under the law and until that matter is settled, anyone can learn the spell and use it to benefit their families.”

“That’s a lie!”

“It’s the law,” we declared.

“You’re—” But the voice cut off before it could say more.

The Albei hunters had filtered through the crowd and finally reached the various agents planted within it. We didn’t know what the hunters did or said, but there were no more outcries. The crowd didn’t know that, though, and they shuffled uneasily waiting to hear more.

“Honored Ikfael is outside the dominion of any institution. Her responsibilities are to the gods and to the land. Whatever people do, the hunters and the healers included, she is beyond them. The generosity she extends is hers, and every person must decide for themselves whether they have the courage and determination to take it up.”

And on that final note, we guided Knight Otter into the pavilion, and closed the flaps behind us. Splitting our consciousnesses, Yuki buzzed with excitement. They’d never spoken in front of such a large crowd before. I, on the other hand, was doing my best to contain my nausea.

Theater audiences, film crews, and even large celebrations were fine. I’d gotten used to them over the years, but once the number got up into the hundreds or, heaven forbid, the thousands, it was another matter entirely. I wiped my palms on my pants and listened to the crowd outside chattering.

Our silhouettes were likely visible through the pavilion walls, so Ikfael parked Knight Otter on a cushion, while I knelt beside her until I felt better. “We’ll need to stay here until the crowd disperses, then we’ll head back to the inn and—”

Outside, the crowd went silent, and a pair of boots sounded on the step up to the platform. They walked toward the pavilion entrance, where someone clapped twice. “I prefer to remain nameless, but I am here to petition for Honored Ikfael’s mercy and trade for the Healing Water spell.”

That was a much faster and better response than I’d expected. More courageous too. Whoever it was, they were opposing the Healer’s Lodge in front of a huge crowd.

Beside me, Knight Otter’s face was resolved. There was a glimmer in her eyes that bespoke of reciprocating determination with determination. So, I got up to open the way.

A woman knelt outside, her hands over her heart, her forehead on the ground. It’d taken a moment, though, to make out the details—a cloak and hood covered her body, and when she sat up, her face was fully masked.

Okay, not so courageous, after all, but smart. Very smart, and patient too. She must’ve been waiting and preparing for this moment. Unless people normally carried face masks with them wherever they went, but that didn’t seem likely. Unless she was a bandit, thief, or assassin—and I forcefully corralled my runaway imagination and checked her identity with my Status camera.

Heicata the Lodge Master (Human)

Talents: Number Sensible, Nose for Animals, Soft Walker

Dear gods, it was the master of Voorsowen’s hunters making good on her desire to learn the Healing Water spell. She must’ve heard Ikfael was in the city, and decided there was no need to wait until the shrine was completed.

With her back to the crowd, Heicata signed, “From your surprise, it seems you recognize me. I’d prefer if no one else did, though.”

Knight Otter gave permission for Heicata to come closer, and I closed the flap behind her. Mind racing, I also signed, “No names or identifying information. You never know who’s listening or watching.”

“Yes, please,” Heicata signed. “I expect to eventually get caught but would like to delay that happening for as long as possible.”

Knight Otter nodded. “You wish to exchange for the Healing Water spell. What do you have to offer in return?”

The question was another departure from the norm, since spirits of the land usually set the terms for their exchanges. This way, though, we were able to make Healing Water available to people from all walks of life.

Heicata considered the question for a long time before she cautiously signed. “In truth, the fair price for life is a life, but I need mine to put the spell to good use. My allegiance is to... to my home; I’m needed there. But perhaps a part can be spared—a quarter devoted to Honored Ikfael.”

Her spirit clouded with worry that her offer insulted the spirit of the land, so I asked her to clarify: “What does that mean?”

“A quarter of all I earn will belong to Honored Ikfael—taak, light, everything.”

The figurine in my hands shook in surprise, but when I glanced at Knight Otter, the water sculpture’s face was resolute. She carefully nodded.

Heicata sighed in relief, although her spirit remained concerned. No one planning to oppose the Healer’s Lodge went into the process lightly. If she was ever reported using the spell on someone outside what was allowed by the law, she’d be exiled and forced to set up a mender’s hut in the wilderness.

“Bring your offerings to my shrine once a season,” Knight Otter signed.

“I will.” Heicata bowed deep, her forehead touching the ground. “Gratefully so.”

The figurine wiggled in my hands, and Ikfael’s paw materialized just long enough to hand me a familiar bowl. That was a surprisingly handy trick

Paw-y, Yuki offered.

Gods no—shush—this is not the time for puns.

Although, I’d have to ask Ikfael later if she’d be willing to store my stuff in her Hoarder’s Pocket. She wouldn’t always be with me, but in the times she was, it’d be like having a video game inventory system—

Heicata sat up, her eyes curious. “This is?”

“The spell is inside.” I enchanted the bowl with qi and mana, then placed it in her hands.

Voorsowen’s hunt master only had access to mana, but she should be able to feel the runic patterns now that I’d activated them. If not, then I’d have to run to the Albei lodge to retrieve the orb stored there. Or maybe buy one for Ikfael, just for this use?

As I wondered about the expense, Heicata set her worries aside, and her entire being focused singularly on the bowl in her hands. “I... I think I sense—”

“If this doesn’t work, there are other options, but they’ll take some time.”

“No, no, just give me a moment.” A minute later, Heicata muttered a curse as the qi and mana faded from the bowl. “Again, if you please.”

So, I enchanted it again, but instead of sticking around to keep renewing the enchantments, I ducked outside to ask Mumu about the cost of a spell orb. The lodge kept a stock of them for instances when hunters found beast spells in the wild.

“We purchase them from the philosophers. They cost us five antaak for ten orbs.” Mumu put her hand on my shoulder. “No need to be so disappointed; it will be my gift to Ikfael. Tell her so.”

While Mumu ran to retrieve a spell orb, I went back inside the pavilion to refresh the enchantments and wait and wait and wait some more until I used up the last of my mana. And it was another twenty minutes after that when we heard a clap outside.

“It is Mulallamu, returned with the request fulfilled.”

I opened the flap for her to hand me the orb. A quick look showed that it was empty, so I needed to imprint it, which meant waiting another ten minutes for my mana to recover. I really should’ve judged the timing better.

Fortunately, Heicata was engrossed in her own thoughts, her eyes intent. When I handed her the filled orb, she only nodded before sinking her attention into it.

Time passed. I meditated for some, then spent the rest mentally reviewing the tournament’s rules and logistics. I just couldn’t help myself. I was so engrossed in my thoughts, Heicata startled me with a request for water. Then, with my waterskin in hand, she successfully cast the Healing Water spell. She laughed in delight, and Ikfael’s spirit glimmered too. The exchange had been successful.

Afterward, Heicata wanted to reinforce her understanding of runes and didn’t leave for another hour. Then, when I opened the exit for her, I saw the audience sitting on the ground—eating, drinking, and watching the entertainers who’d come among them.

The crowd rushed to their feet when Heicata’s masked figure was revealed. They whispered as she stood proudly before them.

She yelled, “Honored Ikfael has granted my request. The Healing Water spell is within my hands.”

The crowd muttered, and there were a few intrigued gazes among them. A question occurred to me then, something I should’ve wondered earlier but hadn't.

“Why?” I whispered. “If you’re concerned about protecting your identity, why so publicly learn the spell?”

Her eyes on the crowd, Heicata nodded to acknowledge my question. She whispered back, “It’s my revenge.”

“Against the healers?”

She nodded again, and a thread of sorrow revealed itself—only briefly before it was subsumed and buried deeply in her spirit.

“They’ll hate you for this,” I whispered.

“Never as much as I hate them.”