The old monk was back less than thirty minutes later. As promised, he had stayed nearby, easing the nerves of the group by occasionally making himself known between the trees. When he returned, he did so with an armful of herbs, some of which Oras recognized, others he did not.

  “Sokmoss to help seal the wounds, keeping them from opening as you walk.” Romas explained while pulling a pestle and mortar out of his travel bag. “Moonflower for the Stringless’ body to help healing, Sunflower for the humans.” He tossed the herbs together into the small bowl and ground it all up into a fine paste. “Alongside Sealgrass and Numberlings to keep the pain from bothering you and flies disinterested in the wound.”

  Oras followed the small lesson eagerly, “I never heard of Sun or Moonflowers before,” he said.

  “They only bloom where fae are active. I believe they are the same plant, changing their attributes depending on when they blossom. Never managed to verify that.” Romas inspected their wounds and nodded approvingly. In his absence, they had already cleaned them. Carefully and swiftly, the warrior of the faith spread the green mixture over all of their wounds. It had a pleasantly soothing effect.

  “Speakin’ of fae, can ya tell us what all of that was about?” Theria requested. “What did they mean by ‘Egg Speaker’?”

  Romas kept a calm face as he answered. “It’s a ridiculous tale. Lord Maplewine is a lesser Baron in the Faewilds, someone who tilts towards the Seelie of the Spring Court.” The last of the salve had been applied, so Romas transitioned into cleaning his fingers and the equipment. “He originally had an amicable relationship with our Order. One time, he offered us a feast. We accepted, after following all the usual precautions. He offered us wine. It had gone bad and I told him it tasted like eggs. Since then, he has been sending his little soldiers after me every now and again. I believe he was just looking for a feud.”

  “Why?” Celia asked.

  “Having feuds with mortals is fashionable to fairies,” Romas said simply. “They are other. Even if they might look similar to us, never forget that. You will live longer that way.”

  With another valuable lesson given, they soon resumed their journey.

  ____________________________________________________________________

  Weekdawn, 28th of Octavius, 11th Year of the Stringless Era

  “The remarkable qualities of youth,” Romas remarked.

  “Or of your salves,” Oras returned.

  Their many wounds had all sealed overnight, to the point that they were barely an inconvenience anymore. It was particularly outstanding for the stab wounds they had received. Those usually took a while to fully heal.

  The old monk just grunted thoughtfully and made himself comfortable on the uncushioned wood of the cart. “Alrighty, let’s get goin’!” Theria shouted.

  Subra trumpeted in response, then drew the carriage back onto the road.

  Their second day of travel initially had nothing important going on. Then the wind picked up. It started as a gust, rushing through the trees. It evolved into a cover of clouds, keeping the canopies swaying under daylight all but blotted out by dark grey and thunder. The wind picked up further, lightning cracked overhead.

  Oras was soon fighting for his every step. The gusts were enough to make the trees not just sway but bend. Dangerous creaking from healthy trunks and the snapping of unhealthy branches echoed in the forest. Bits of debris were thrown through the air. The freak storm was strong and only seemed to get stronger.

  It had caught all of them off guard with both its power and persistence. They needed to get into shelter. Shouting that over the deluge of noise would have been a waste of air. The rain had not yet begun to fall. Once the water filled the air, their visibility would be reduced to next to nothing.

  Finding shelter would have been easy enough for the three of them. The problem was that they had a cart and an entire elephant as well. Oras had to come up with a solution and fast.

  Howling wind circled around them like a pack of spectral wolves. Oras’ black hair was whipped around his face, his mismatched eyes snapping from one part of the landscape to another. The canopy thrashed, a sea of green before a backdrop of angry clouds. Subra trumpeted, the animal visibly panicking. Flying pebbles pelted her flank. The cart behind her groaned, the wooden frame shuddering under the strain.

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  Oras scanned the jungle. His mind snapped to Romas’ lesson the day before. This was not just an environment, it was a battlefield. Nature itself was warring upon them. Green and gold, his eyes, honed by years of risky business, searched for a break in the pattern.

  There it was.

  Up ahead, the terrain dipped. Thick, broad-leafed ferns obscured the location, flat and heavy enough that they barely swayed in the wind. It wasn’t a cave, but it was something.

  “THERIA! YOU GUIDE SUBRA!” Oras shouted into the storm. “FOLLOW ME!”

  “GOT IT!” Theria screamed back. Her red ponytail was frantically lashing in the wing. Had their situation been less pressing, Oras would have stopped to admire how great his wife looked in a storm. The same went for Celia, who moved in silent support of the redhead. Both of them fought to the top of their tiny caravan. The doll-woman’s white-gold silhouette fought against the whipping winds.

  Subra was spooked when Theria suddenly grabbed her trunk, but the well-trained elephant swiftly caught herself. A grey boulder of flesh and muscle, the elephant followed Theria, who followed Oras in turn.

  It took them several minutes to cross just a few dozen metres. On arrival, Oras moved fast, unlatching the cart. Subra proved just how intelligent the sacred elephants were by keeping her patience until she was freed, then observing what happened closely.

  Not as closely as Romas, Oras felt. The old monk had climbed out of the cart the moment they had arrived at the ditch. His eyes tracked their every action like a sergeant measuring a recruit. He nodded approvingly when the three adventurers worked with the elephant to turn the carriage around.

  The numerous pillows and provisions spilled into the dirty ditch. It didn’t matter. The upside down vehicle formed a serviceable roof, the wavy leaves around aiding further. Oras helped Romas down while Celia and Theria helped Subra with finding her own way of wiggling into the niche.

  They were in position just in time to hear the sky proverbially break. It wasn’t a comfortable position. Even seated, legs pulled in, they had less than a foot’s length between their head and their wooden roof. Their asses were planted on moist dirt and pebbles. Still, it was dry and they were safe from most of the wind.

  Subra, adorably, had her trunk flop around, gently wrestling with them. The rain didn’t seem to bother the elephant much. Oras had read before that elephants had much greater difficulty staying cold than getting hot. Now that she was no longer getting attacked by flying debris, she seemed to quite enjoy the storm.

  “A good solution,” Romas finally said.

  “I am certain there are better ones,” Oras answered.

  “Doubtlessly. Still, it is a solution.” Romas grabbed an apple from the provision’s sack by his side. A knife swiftly followed. Half the fruit went to Subra’s trunk. The flexible nose of the holy beast grabbed the fruit effortlessly, despite the animal’s inability to see anything. The sweet treat was quickly delivered to her mouth. Romas sliced the second half into smaller pieces, offering them to the members of the party..

  As they munched on the sweet treat, a question occurred to Oras. “What do you make of Celia?”

  Romas produced a gruff grunt. He did not answer until he had found a rag to clean the blade. “Are you asking about what she is or how she is performing in her function as an adventurer?”

  “The former,” Oras stated.

  “I would welcome words on the latter,” Celia weighed in.

  “Then I will start with that. You’re an attachment.” Romas put it bluntly, with all the lack of care for feelings that old warriors apparently developed. “These two act together, you act by following one of them. Your usefulness varies. Still, you are more useful than not.”

  “I consider being a net positive a good start.”

  “It is a good start,” Romas agreed and put the cleaned knife away. Then, he switched to the actual topic. “As for her existence… it is fascinating and troubling.”

  “Troublin’? Why?” Theria wondered.

  “Because it means that Precursor technology can be even more resilient than I previously gave it credit for. Even our spiritual guide, the Supernatural Elephant, requires to be recharged once a year and has called for help on some issues on occasion.” Romas tapped his bad knee absent-mindedly. “Yet a pot sat beneath the ground since before the fall of the Precursors, giving rise to an intact String rather than a Ceramic.”

  “And if that is possible for her in a remote facility…” Oras picked up on the thought. “...then what else may be preserved beneath us?”

  “Precisely,” Romas stated. “I believe it is a horrific decadence that ultimately saw the end of the Precursors. What she said about free will furthers this belief. They were vile, unwholesome tyrants and in their arrogance ultimately lost the war to Nature… are you unwell?”

  “Yes,” Celia responded bluntly. She had closed her eyes and was rubbing her temples rhythmically. “You speak blasphemy against the Masters. I urge to argue with you.”

  “Is that your own urge?”

  “I do not know.” She raised a hand. “I do not wish to have this conversation again at this juncture.”

  Romas obliged with a respectful nod. “As you prefer.” He looked at Oras again. “Besides this concern, I have little to add. Study of the Precursors was not within my field of interests. I know more than many because I have lived next to some that know more than most. Still, I was always more focused about the Yurters’ conquering the present.”

  “Understood,” Oras said, putting the period to that conversation.