13. Ex Lapide

 Wake up, little one.

Caela stretched her arms above her head, feeling foliage tickle her splayed fingers. She cracked open her eyes, blinking up at a verdant canopy shot through with beams of dappled sunlight. A thousand sunny spots danced over her skin as the branches swayed to the lazy rhythm of a summer breeze.

She sat up on her bough, steadying herself with one hand against the rough bark. A childlike smile blossomed on her face as she remembered what had stirred her from sleep - a familiar voice that she’d felt, rather than heard. She craned her neck, peering along the solid branch in search of its owner.

Her uncle perched a few armlengths away, hunched over something in his lap. Seeing that she was awake, he looked over, holding up the thing he’d been fiddling with. It was a little wooden doll with straw hair. The ragged old feline pulled a final knot tight, tying the doll’s knee joint back together with a length of string.

Caela frowned. The sight of the doll stirred something in her - a strange memory flashing a fin, like a leviathan turning in the depths of her mind.

Uncle?

I finally put her back together. I’m sorry it’s taken so long.

Menelaus handed her the doll. It felt stiff and cold in her hand, yet light as a feather.

What are you doing here? I don’t remember-

He raised a paw, stopping her gently. His eyes were windows into a night sky, clouded by cataracts but still as enigmatic as they’d been the first time they’d met. He smiled, and the depth of sadness in his expression shook more fragments to the surface of her mind.

I think I got hurt, Uncle. There was a fire, and then… I felt so cold…

She shivered despite the dancing sunbeams. Menelaus held her hand in his, enveloping it in warm fur. With the other, he tapped the doll with a long claw.

It’s alright, little one. I fixed it.

She looked down, inspecting the grey string holding the fragmented doll together. With a lurch, she realised it was the same colour as Menelaus’ patchy fur. She looked up at him, alarmed, but his pitying smile did not change.

I had to use a bit of me. It’s borrowed time, so I shouldn’t be selfish with it, right?

Caela shook her head, trying to return to the carefree reverie of moments before. She steadied herself again with the hand holding the doll, then froze at the terrible sound - the scraping of stone against stone.

Filled with mounting horror, she lifted the doll. Its spindly wooden limbs had transformed into hewn stone. Beneath her hand, the branch had the same cold, mineral hue. The chill seeped into her skin.

A crack split the bough where it met the trunk, a glassy fissure racing along its length.

This is wrong. I remember now... Uncle! I’m scared. I can’t go on without you.

No, little one, that’s where you’re wrong. Without me is the only way you can go on.

Uncle, please-

I love you, Caela.

There was a thunderous crack, and the branch shattered beneath her. She cried out in childlike terror as she plunged, still clutching the doll, into stony abyss.

Then, like waking from a dream of falling, she lurched back to consciousness.

Caela gasped a drowning lungful of freezing air, collapsing from where she had been standing, one arm outstretched. She curled into a fetal position, muscles aching, joints rigid and crusted like they’d been encased in plaster. She coughed and retched, dust shredding her throat, until all she could do was rasp weakly.

She forced her heavy eyelids open and blinked at the ruined cellar around her. It had mostly collapsed, with only a few charred beams still holding up the roof. Ahead, a narrow tunnel allowed white moonlight to shine in, casting a silver glow over a crumpled figure.

The two-tongued wolf stood alert, briefly turning to nose the ragged pile. Caela crawled forward, choking back a sob as recognition struck - the dusty fur, the battered armour.

Her uncle sat slumped forward, a peaceful smile on his face. His once-muted fur was now completely ashen, drained of colour and life. He looked like an old, discarded teddy bear.

Caela buried her face in his fur for a long moment, breathing in the last traces of his familiar scent. The wet nose of the wolf nudged her cheek. At last, she lifted her head and reached up to touch the cracked scar that zig-zagged across her face.

She looked toward the distant moonlight and whispered softly in Elvish.

“Thank you. For looking after my grandfather. For my childhood. And for giving me a second chance. I won’t waste it.”

She lifted her brittle bones, and lurched into the night.

—

The lodge was silent, save for the pattering of the rain. The timbers creaked eerily, as if the house was re-settling after the series of bombshell revelations. Caela’s guests hadn’t reacted as she’d expected - perhaps for the best, considering she’d half-thought they would run screaming.

Instead, Hellebore and Valerios had sworn, while Rose and Freija had wept. The wizard Johannes swayed beneath the weight of new information, absently petting his weasel familiar as he gazed into space. Lux just stared at Caela, his big blue eyes drinking in her sadness.

“...and then I invited all of you here, so you’d know I was okay.”

Caela trailed off, her story hanging in the air between them.

Lux was the first to breach the silence. He stepped forward, voice low and rough.

“Okay? That what you’d call it?”

Closing the distance in a few quick strides, he tackled her in a desperate hug. Caela felt his cheek, hot and wet with tears, against her stone-cold scar. She yelped as she was lifted into the air and spun in a circle, every rotation giving her another glimpse of the others’ shell-shocked faces.

“Okay!” Lux hooted deliriously. “Last time I saw you, you were in more pieces than a bag of gold. You’re alive! I’d say that’s a damn bit better than okay!”

With that, the tension broke, seeping out of the windows to mingle with the rain. Disentangling herself from Lux’s embrace - noticing how his new armour gleamed in the candlelight - Caela found herself greeted by each of the others in turn.

There were more hugs than she’d expected - Rose practically lifting her off the ground, Freija tucking sweet-smelling flowers and fern fronds behind her ears. Johannes inspected her new scar with great interest, and Valerios clasped her shoulders with stern pride. Even Hellebore managed to mutter that they were glad to see her again.

When she at last stepped back - relieved, baffled, but happy - she saw what Menelaus had seen on that first night in the Feisty Fish. Not just a motley band of strangers, but a group of allies that had been through the worst and come out stronger. A party.

“Thank you,” she said, voice choked with emotion. “Each of you put yourselves in danger out there in the swamp, just to help me on my quest. I… couldn’t ask for more than you’ve given.”

She set her jaw. “But whoever captured Zora and created that monster is still out there. If any of you wanted to keep hunting with me, I couldn’t possibly refuse.”

Her companions exchanged glances. Perhaps a few weeks ago, they would have shrugged, given their excuses, and left. But it seemed that despite - or perhaps because of - the disastrous nature of their last encounter, a bond had formed that would bind them together, for better or worse.

“I just wish we had more to show from… well, while you were gone,” Lux said awkwardly. “I ain’t got nothing but a tan from my time down the docks.”

“Don’t put yourself down, Lux,” boomed Rose, clapping him on the shoulder. “This lad’s been putting in the hours with his coach,” he announced proudly, “and it’s paying off. I reckon he’d give any of you a run for your money. Even scared off some punk who tried to shake me down in an alley.”

Lux smiled humbly, but didn’t deny it. Instead, he launched into the story: they’d become separated in one of San Aria’s street markets, and someone had decided to march Rose, of all people, into an alley at knifepoint. The hooded woman had seemed confident - even against the famed duellist - but fled once she realised she was outnumbered.

“Friend of yours?” Freija asked Hellebore sweetly. The masked figure bristled, but before they could respond, Rose cut in.

“Course not. Helle’s one of us.”

Freija winked at them playfully. “Oh, I’m only teasing. What have you been up to, anyway? Did Jojo send you on a job too?”

The others exchanged perplexed looks.

Johannes coughed politely. “What Miss Freija means,” he explained, “is that I managed to translate those scraps of notes that we recovered from the laboratory, including my own reproductions of the warnings on those strange stencilled boxes.”

He handed round a charcoal drawing, crinkled from haphazard storage in his spellbook. It depicted the stencilled pattern he’d described; concentric circles of barbed glyphs.

“It’s quite simple, really,” he chuckled, as if explaining a joke no-one understood or found funny. “The box in the Colosseum was 1 of 3, and the one in the swamp was 3 of 3.”

“So there’s one more out there,” Caela realised.

Johannes nodded approvingly.  “Exactly. So I engaged our nature-aligned companion to search for it.”

Freija cut in, full of excitement. “I had an idea. The Sarciels don’t grow just anywhere. For one thing, the one on my island needs loads of fresh water. If whatever’s in these crates is related, then maybe it does too.”

Caela kept pace with Freija’s quickfire logic. “So, it would need to be somewhere naturally wet-”

“-like the swamp-”

“-or somewhere that stores loads of fresh water-”

“-like the Colosseum.”

Freija was alight with the idea, but just as quickly, she deflated. “Which sounds like a great idea, but I’ve been swimming up and down every canal in this godsforsaken city, and I can’t find a thing!”

Caela took Freija’s hand and squeezed it lightly. “It’s okay.” She smiled, feeling new purpose lighting up her sluggish heart. “We’ll find it together.”

—

As the night drew on, hunger for food overtook hunger for answers, and the reunited party prepared a feast.

Johannes, ever eager to show off his arcane talents, conjured a contained blaze that snapped and danced in the hearth. He tended it carefully - his beard only occasionally threatened by a stray spark - while Caela, struck by a sudden need for good elvish cooking, took charge of the pot.

Rose had offered to raid the lodge’s kitchen garden for ingredients, but - perhaps to everyone’s surprise - Hellebore insisted on venturing into the storm themselves. Caela wondered whether the abrasive thief had softened since their last encounter, or if they were just hoping to pocket a few veggies for the road. Either way, she didn’t mind. It wasn’t like she’d been able to pay them before their contract had ‘expired’. They emerged from the garden soaked but triumphant, presenting Caela with an armful of vegetables before retreating to the fire to dry off.

Freija drifted back and forth past the stewpot with her bottomless satchel of herbs, tossing in handfuls without even looking. Some of the dried leaves and seeds were ones Caela had never even seen before. Between them, the two elves were able to concoct some amalgamation of elvish cuisine, halfway between the forests and islands. The broth was sour, and fiery in both taste and colour, but it still reminded Caela of home. Appropriate, then, for a housewarming party.

“This is - was - Uncle Mene’s house,” she explained to her friends, as they lounged with full bellies on an assortment of fur rugs. “He had a map that led to it, ready for when I woke up. So, I guess it’s mine now.”

Freija let her head loll back, taking in the vaulted ceiling and solid wooden beams. The main lounge was certainly grand - almost like the hall of a fine lord.

“It’s cute,” she declared. “Wonder why he was staying in a tavern if he had a mansion a couple of hours away?”

Rose propped himself up on an elbow. “He did mention this place, once,” he mused. “Said he preferred having Ren taking care of him. Can’t blame him.” Catching Freija’s disparaging glance, he continued hastily: “Moving out, I mean. The old cat would’ve been rattling around this big house on his own.”

The mention of the Feisty Fish caused Lux to stir.

“I nearly forgot,” he began, glancing at Caela. “Back at the Fish, when I thought I saw someone at the window…”

She nodded, eyes narrowing.

“Well,” he continued, more slowly, “I used my Candlelight. To see better. If I use it like that, it’s a kind of… sense, I guess. Shows me things that don’t sit right with the world. Spirits, curses, wrongness in the bones of a place.”

Caela tilted her head. “And?”

Lux rubbed the back of his neck. “Nothing outside. But when I turned around…” He hesitated. “I saw your uncle. He was lit up like a lighthouse beacon.”

There was a faint slap, and they looked around to see Johannes, his fist slammed into his quivering palm.

“Of course,” he whispered, his earlier faraway look returning. “Revenant.”

The others scarcely had a chance to absorb the foreign word before the wizard leapt up and strode towards a well-stocked bookshelf in the far corner. It was one of the less ostentatious indicators that, before his death, Menelaus had been very rich indeed.

Johannes scoured the dusty spines. “If I’m right, I would bet he did some research, so there must be a - yes!”

He triumphantly brandished a volume, bearing it back into the circle. Flipping through yellowed parchment, he stabbed a bony finger at a faded illustration. One panel showed an armoured figure being slain by a crowd of swordsmen. The next showed the same figure, exposed flesh now exposed bone, cutting down their startled murderers.

“A revenant,” Johannes began, emphasising the key word, “meaning one who comes back. From death, you see. It is a phenomenon of great interest to those who consider death a possibility, rather than an inevitability.”

If the wizard had his way, the words would’ve been accompanied by an ominous roll of thunder. As it was, they fell upon a rain-soaked silence.

Caela stared. “And you think Uncle Mene was one? That’s not possible.” Even as she said it, she understood the hypocrisy. “...How?”

Johannes looked regretful.

“It is a highly rare and specific phenomenon, making it exceedingly difficult to study, so its origins are not fully understood. Nevertheless, the theory is that they have an unfulfilled purpose. Something that keeps driving them in place of their life force.”

Freija, perhaps thinking of the life-giving tree of her homeland, looked unsettled.

“But he was alive!” Caela protested. “I felt him. He was warm, and happy, and…” The memories blocked her throat. She touched her own pallid flesh. “He wasn’t like me.”

Johannes peered at her. “Your uncle told you he didn’t have many years left, and I doubt he’d want to pass on that pittance to you. I think the time he gave you has been stretched thin, so that you will live a longer lifespan, but be less…”

He waved a hand.

“Alive. It presents an interesting theory, anyway, a sort of conservation of energy. The Tyrol Vitality Theory, perhaps…”

Caela let him sink back into his muttering, roaming the room for his scribing supplies. She needed the time to absorb the implications of her new half-life. Her head was spinning. How had her uncle felt, waking every day knowing that he was living in overtime? Was this why he’d pawned his memories to the Otherside? To forget whatever had made him this way? To forget whatever had killed him?

Valerios had been silently spectating. When he spoke, his dark eyes shone with fervour. “You have been given a second chance, ranger, thanks to your uncle’s unfulfilled purpose. Like the oaths that Lux and I have taken, you must see this as a strength, not a burden.”

His words settled over Caela like a warm cloak. His stoic certainty was comforting, somehow.

“I’m not trying to become an empress, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She managed a faint smile. “I just wanted to make sure that you were all alright.”

The big man was unshaken in his belief. “If your purpose is devotion to your loved ones,” he said, “you might consult the boy.” His gaze shifted meaningfully to Lux, who squirmed under their combined attention.

“Lux?” Caela’s brow furrowed. “What is your oath, anyway?” she asked, suddenly curious.

Before Lux could answer, Rose stepped in between them, arm outstretched.

“Come on,” he said lightly. “Haven’t we had enough serious talk for one night?”

Lux shook his head slowly.

“It’s alright, Rose. I’ve been meaning to tell them. It’s not right if they don’t know what I am.”

He breathed in, and gently pushed Rose’s hand aside.

“Back home, it was me, Pa, and my little brother Aix. Ma passed when Aix was born.”

Lux’s voice shifted - growing softer, slower. His accent seemed to deepen as he drifted into memory.

“Reckon that messed him up, y’know? He always figured he was the reason she died. Wasn’t ever his fault, but he still felt guilty.”

Lux sighed. “I didn’t know. I was happy, back then. Just the three of us - fishin’ for our living, eatin’ what we caught. Our village was hidden in this cove, facin’ west. In the mornin’ the sun’d come up over the ridge and light everything up like a surprise. Evenings, you could watch it set over the sea, long and slow as you like.”

He smiled faintly, eyes distant.

“It was a little piece of heaven. Maybe that’s why I didn’t see it. Aix didn’t get to know Ma like I did, and he couldn’t let it go. Got fixated. I said he blamed himself, but… well. Eventually, he found someone else to blame.”

Lux glanced up, gaze heavier now.

“My pa. If it weren’t for him, Aix wouldn’t’ve been born. Ma’d still be alive. It don’t make sense, but… when does it ever?”

His voice dropped lower.

“One day, I came back from the boats. House was quiet. I went lookin’. All I found was…” He swallowed hard, but forged on. “It was too late. They must’ve fought for a while. But Aix… he was the one still standing. Holdin’ the knife.”

A pause. There was no sound but the distant rain.

“I had to stop him. Had to.” Lux’s voice cracked.

“I was his big brother. I was stronger. I got the knife away from him, but he was still hanging on to me. Always stubborn, he was. We were standin’ near the cistern. I tripped - he pushed my head under the water. I thought that was it. And then I heard the voice.”

He looked towards Valerios, who nodded solemnly.

“I don’t remember what it said. But-” Lux’s hands tightened into fists. “Then Aix was dead, and it was over.”

“I packed a bag that night. Walked out before the sun showed its face. Figured if Aix could go bad like that… there had to be others.”

Caela reached for him, the best comfort her cold touch could give. “Oh, Lux. I’m so sorry.” She knew the words were too insubstantial, too inadequate, but what else could she say?

Lux looked away, jaw tightening.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she insisted, squeezing him gently. “You’re a good man. I’ve known you for only a few days, and already you’ve saved more people than most ever do.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered. “Just thought y’oughta know the sort of man you’re signin’ on with.”

There were a few beats of hesitation, before Hellebore’s raspy voice cut through the silence.

“She’s right. I’ve known a fair few scoundrels in my time, and you’re not one. I’ve seen you in a pinch - you saved the big man here when that monster paralysed him, even though you’d have been better off running. You’re someone who does the right thing. You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

It was an unexpected outpouring of words from the usually-taciturn thief, and Lux seemed to take it seriously, thanking Hellebore with a solemn nod as they retreated back into the safety of their hood.

Despite the sad picture Lux had painted, his story seemed to have cleared the air. As the group mulled over his words in their own quiet ways, discussion returned to more mundane matters.

“There’s only the one bed,” Caela said quietly. “It was my uncle’s.” No-one seemed eager to take the dead man’s place. Though it was her house now, she still wasn’t ready to move into the room that was so clearly his - bedsheets still rumpled, his spare cloak hanging in the wardrobe as if waiting for his return.

“No worries,” declared Rose cheerily. “We can bed down here. It’s dry and cozy, what with the hearth, and all these furs… hey!”

One of the fluffy sheepskins reared up, the wolf poking his sleepy head from underneath. He assessed the guests, decided no further food was forthcoming, and returned to snoozing beneath the blanket.

“We really should give him a name,” Freija mused.

“He already has one,” Caela replied. She glanced at a portrait on the far wall - her uncle in his youth. The tabaxi looked sleek and lean, with a feather in his cap and a rapier at his belt. An adventurer and a hero. Caela looked back at the sleeping wolf.

“His name is Mene.”

—

The group surrendered the house to night, allowing it to stroll in through the windows and make itself at home in the eaves of the lodge as the candles burned out and the fire banked down to glowing embers. The storm outside showed no signs of relenting, its sodden fingers pressing down on the countryside. The guests bundled themselves up in pelts and furs, sprawling over Menelaus’ luxuriant furnishings. It was easy enough for each of them to fall asleep in this warmth and comfort, and for a long while the room was silent but for snoring and the occasional rustle of blankets.

Lux stirred, feeling cold droplets misting his cheek. Unsure, at first, of why he’d woken, or how long he’d been asleep, he cracked open one eye. His startled gasp was stifled as a gloved hand clamped over his mouth. Above him loomed a glossy, pale skull.

As the death’s head stared down at him, Lux’s heart lurched until his sleep-blurred eyes finally recognised the terrifying visage as Hellebore’s carnival mask. Up close, he could see the intricate patterning around the blank, black eye holes, and the dark lips painted below. In their other hand was the obsidian dagger they’d found in the swamp laboratory.

Hellebore put a finger to their lips - quiet. Lux’s eyes, wide as saucers, followed the finger as it pointed over his shoulder. He twisted, and looked.

Above his head, the window had been thrown open, and the gossamer curtain was blown into wraithlike shapes by the wind and rain. The other end of the hall was shrouded in darkness. Barely visible, a shadow against shadows, a shape moved among the sleeping bodies. It tiptoed around Valerios’ armoured bulk, past Freija’s pile of blankets, until it reached Rose, who was lying sprawled in an armchair.

The figure raised their arm. For an instant, moonlight flashed off a blade.

“Hey!”

Lux barked the word. In the same instant, Hellebore’s black dagger flew.

The stranger’s head snapped around. They twisted to dodge the missile, driving their own blade into Rose’s shoulder instead of his neck. With a roar of pain, he startled awake. Hellebore’s dagger crashed through a window, tumbling into the storm.

Woken by the shout and the smash, the others were startled into action. The assassin looked around wildly as the sleepers lurched awake, then dashed for an exit.

Hellebore swore.

“I need to get that dagger,” they hissed urgently. “Stay here. They won’t fight head-on if they can help it - but you do not want to back these people into a corner.”

Lux didn’t even consider heeding Hellebore’s words. As soon as the thief released the pressure on his chest, he leapt up and scrambled for the assassin, who was barrelling towards the front door. Hellebore looked from the intruder to the smashed window, cursed, and headed for the latter.

The assassin fumbled for the handle, hurling the door open and sprinting into the moonlit garden. Lux was hot on their heels, straining to close the distance, squinting through the lashing rain. On instinct, he reached out a hand, as if to catch the figure running a dozen feet ahead. Golden light chased down his arm to his fingertips and shot forth like a lizard’s tongue, snagging the assassin on a radiant strand. Lux dug his heels into the ground, yanking the fugitive back by the glowing lariat.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled.

Dragged towards him, the assassin raised their knife and sprung forward. Like a dog chasing a rabbit, Lux had set off in pursuit without considering what he’d do once he caught up. Now, his prey turned to face him, showing more teeth than he would like. He was suddenly, painfully aware that he was unarmed and unarmoured.

The assassin closed the distance, lunging at him. Lux fell back, feeling a line of pain across his chest. He rolled into the overgrown foliage as the blade swung down wildly. Wet leaves clung to him, blurring his vision and the form of his assailant.

Just as he thought he was done for, a huge shape burst through the undergrowth. With a shout, the assassin was swept off their feet. They’d been caught on the horns of a bull - a mighty beast with a hide of dull teal and flowers braided through its chest fur. It looked down at him, snorted, then spoke in a familiar sing-song voice.

“That was a bit silly of you, wasn’t it?”

Lux looked around wildly for the assassin, who’d been sent flying by Freija’s charge. It wasn’t just the druid who’d come to his aid. The wolf - Mene - was on top of the figure, pressing a huge paw onto their black-leather chestpiece. Lux stalked over, then dropped to a crouch in the mud. Pulling down their bandana, he saw a woman’s face, angular and twisted with rage.

She spat at him as he called back the long strand of Candlelight, which whipped back into his glowing hand. He held the amorphous blob of light between their faces, casting deep shadows. Raindrops sizzled as they hit its surface, and cold water trickled down the back of Lux’s neck.

“This,” he panted, “was the wrong day to try and hurt my friends.”

—

The group stood around their captive. Freija smeared a healing poultice over Rose’s shoulder, wiping away the blood that had nearly obscured his tattoo. He seemed remarkably unbothered, but Lux felt a cold thrill at the thought of how close the assassin’s blade had come to extinguishing his mentor’s light for good.

Valerios loomed over the assassin, offering her a smile that held no warmth but an awful lot of teeth.

“Tell us who you work for.” It was barely a request.

The woman spat at him, leaving a glob of saliva on his moustache.

Valerios wiped it away, his smile immediately fading. “That was not a wise decision. Captives should negotiate with their captors for the best possible terms of imprisonment.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The woman barked a laugh. “Unfortunately, I don’t plan to be a captive for long.”

Valerios growled suspiciously. “You’ll have no luck breaking free from us, murderer. We shan’t be taken unawares again-”

There was an audible crunch.

The woman smiled victoriously up at Valerios, a trickle of something black seeping between her clenched teeth.

“Too late.”

Valerios’ eyes widened, and he grabbed the assassin’s chin, trying to wrench open her mouth as it began to foam. Even as he tried to hold her still, her body was already beginning to convulse. The woman laughed again, this one turning into a choking cough.

“D-don’t look so mad…” the woman goaded, even as her face turned a blotchy purple. It was horrible to watch, but she still seemed gleeful. “It’s… your fault… we… had to…”

Lux realised with a start that she wasn’t talking to them. Her glazing eyes were losing focus, but they stared straight past him.

He turned, suddenly uncertain, to see Hellebore standing in the doorway, a frozen silhouette. In their hand glittered the strange dagger, a single drop of rainwater hanging from its onyx blade.

 14. Behind the Mask >>