From the young adult’s novel based on The Mysteries of Arklan

Voices echoed eerily through the tunnels, but at least the speakers sounded as if they were alive. The party trudged toward the source of the sound. Navigating the dim passageway easily with their darkvision, Val, Wynlynn, Pantaghion, and Agenar led the way, while Teal, Travis, and Tilia proceeded more cautiously. In his palm, the water genasi had conjured up a small flame that partially illuminated their path without—he hoped—compromising the ability of his elven companions to see in the gloom.

Teal glanced worriedly at Tilia. 7 feet 6 inches tall and powerfully built, the firbolg sometimes moved a little awkwardly, but now she seemed conspicuously off balance. Her breathing was labored and she clutched her left arm tightly as she walked. Although Teal was no healer, he could tell that hers was not an ordinary wound. Even in the dim light and through Tilia’s soft fur, the startling dark lesions spreading across her arm were apparent. And the smell. It was worse than the odor of thousands of sea creatures that, after they had washed up on the beaches of Talpin one year, lay rotting in the summer heat.

“Do you need to slow down a bit?” asked Travis. Coming from his imposing Warforged frame—basically, that of a tall wooden robot—his voice always sounded unexpectedly gentle.

No answer. Either she hadn’t heard his question, or Tilia was too preoccupied to respond. Witnessing Tilia’s distress was particularly upsetting, for she was often the group’s voice of wisdom, a bright, generous soul whose knowledge of the natural world they had come to rely on. Teal felt a rising sense of panic. The holy knight Pantaghion had already tried to heal the mysterious wound with his healing magic—but in vain. What if they couldn’t find a cure in time? How had they landed themselves in this predicament?

*******

“What took you guys so long?” Wynlynn’s emerald eyes flashed impatiently as her friends emerged gradually into the large clearing. She had been using her uncanny understanding of the forest to expedite their journey, darting through the undergrowth and reappearing, as if by magic, to direct her friends along the easiest path. She expected them to keep up. 

“What’s the hurry, anyway?” muttered Pantaghion. “It’s not as if anyone is expecting us.” As was his habit, he seemed to address no-one in particular, and the courtly style of his speech made his remark sound particularly annoying.

Wynlynn did not reply, merely rolling her eyes in response to the haughty paladin. Val was already striding purposefully toward the massive circular stone formation radiating from the center of the clearing, her dark hair glowing auburn in the midday sun. Wynlynn, Travis, and Panthagion followed her, while Tilia and Agenar examined something on the ground with interest. 

Teal debated whether to head toward the center of the Standing Stones or to inquire what had captured Tilia’s attention. The truth was that he had only a vague notion of why they were visiting this ancient stone structure at all. He had been taking longer shifts than usual with Ferryman Styx to get a few days’ leave for this expedition, and felt as if he had missed crucial parts of the discussion leading up to the decision. He knew that they had promised to help Travis investigate the ruined elven temple deep in the Denerian Forest but was not sure exactly how visiting the Standing Stones figured in the plan. Tilia had mentioned something about one of the Glade’s local trappers sustaining disturbing injuries in this area. Someone—or something—had drained the poor man of a large amount of blood, but was this a good reason for their party to get involved? Teal had his doubts, but had not voiced them. For one thing, he felt indebted to Travis for saving his life during their last adventure and was keen on helping their Warforged companion unravel his mysterious origins. Besides, Teal—as usual—just wanted to fit in.

As they walked toward their companions at the center of the stone formation, Tilia said, almost casually, “Those tracks look less than three days old. I wonder if they were the ones made by the poor man I spoke to at the physician’s.”

It was only then that Teal noticed the rusty trails emanating from the stone slab at the heart of the Standing Stones. He suddenly became aware of the strange hush surrounding the area. Even though the still-green grass was burnished by autumnal sunshine and the skies a piercing shade of blue, there was not a sound to be heard—not even the cawing of rooks or some other birds of carrion.

As they drew closer to their companions, Teal felt a chill of horror at the sight awaiting them: the stone stab appeared to be entirely covered in rapidly coagulating gore! 

“Is it …?” Before Tilia could finish her question, Val had traced a large “V” on the slab with her index finger and sampled the slab’s reddish brown coating. She spat on the ground contemptuously. “Yup. It’s human blood,” she affirmed.

“Eewwww!!” Various expressions of disgust broke the preternatural silence of the clearing. Wynlynn rolled her eyes again. “Because you know there’re no pathogens in that stuff, right?” she said to her friend in a resigned tone.

Brushing off the unanimous chorus of revulsion with a loud “harrumph,” Val swung into action. How these people thought they could be adventurers with their soft, refined ways, she couldn’t even begin to imagine. Leaning her entire frame against the stone slab, she gave it a firm shove. With surprising ease, the slab yielded, revealing a crudely cut, narrow series of underground stairs. 

“What are we waiting for?” Val was already halfway down the stairs as Travis predictably flung a handful of glowing pebbles ahead of her, eliciting an emphatic curse from Val and raising cries of protest from Wynlynn and Panthagion. Teal was puzzled. He had experimented with the darkvision spell for the first time the other day and it had made his vision several degrees clearer regardless of the lighting, enabling him to see in dim light as if it were bright daylight, while complete darkness became like dim lighting. Perhaps it worked differently for people with the natural ability to see in the dark.

The stairs were so narrow that they would have to go down in single file. Teal was about to get in after Travis, when he heard Tilia cry, “Agenar!” He looked up to see Agenar in the distance, already close to the edge of the forest. 

“I’ll go get him,” she yelled to Teal. She was already halfway through Standing Stones, her long strides enabling her easily to catch up with the startlingly handsome cleric.

Employing his flame cantrip, Teal climbed carefully down the earthen stairs. He was nearly at the bottom when he heard Tilia and Agenar coming down. At least, then, they would be able to face whatever was responsible for this veritable blood bath together. They found Val, Wynlynn, Panthagion, and Travis looking around what appeared to be some kind of laboratory. There a strong, unpleasant smell of formaldehyde and they could see bottles and containers of all shapes and sizes on the shelves, filled with strange colored liquids. Also on the shelf was a large glass  bowl that was nearly overflowing with dark crystals.

“Black onyx!” exclaimed Panthagion. “A favorite—and indeed essential—accessory of the necromancer.” Just then, they all heard Wynlynn gasp. She motioned to a corner of the counter, where even in the dim light cast by Teal’s flame, a neatly preserved human digit was visible. Without another word, the group abandoned the grotesque scene, wandering through a series of fantastic underground chambers connected by a network of tunnels. 

Then “Fffooomph”—the sound of a large fire being kindled, and almost simultaneously, a loud exclamation of disbelief from Agenar, who had, as was his wont, wandered off from the rest of the party. “Tymora’s … ” he broke off—remembering what had happened the last time he had used the goddess’s name in vain—adding quickly “… tufted titmouse!”

The party immediately rushed in the direction of Agenar’s cry. At ease in the near-darkness, Val, Wynlynn, and Panthagion sprinted ahead, with Travis, Tilia, and Teal close behind. 

In the chamber, a strange fire had spontaneously blazed up in a large copper cauldron at the center of the room, emitting a sinister green light without, apparently, any warmth. With his darkvision, Agenar had no trouble discerning the anatomical specimens at various corners of the room, surrounding the burning cauldron—and him. The moment the strange flame had kindled, the eye sockets of each of the five skeletons had started to glow with the same green light. Then, like old clockwork mechanisms, one by one the skeletons creaked into motion. And they were armed.

“Skeleton warriors!” hissed Wynlynn. In a few swift moves, she was across the room, positioning herself in just the right spot to unleash an arrow at their gaunt, undead foes. By this time, though, two skeletons had already closed in on Agenar; he succeeded in fending one off but the other slashed him in the side with its sword. Hearing his agonized cursing, Val attempted to sidle past the skeletons closest to the passageway, but tripped and bumped against Tilia, knocking off a piece of her shoulder armor. Undeterred, Val brushed herself off and managed, in a couple of deft lunges, to get to Agenar just in time to parry the blow of an attacking skeleton. “Can’t … afford … to lose my best drinking buddy!” she muttered as she fought off his assailant.

The party was no longer, however, the same group of adventurers who had been drawn together by chance a little over two years ago. Experience and familiarity with each other’s capabilities had taught them how to fight more as a unit and less like a random collection of individuals. Tilia cast the barkskin protective spell on Panthagion as he rushed into the fray, wielding his broad sword with deadly intent. Having temporarily rebuffed his immediate antagonist, Panthagion paused to aid his comrades. Quietly whispering an ancient incantation, he blessed Val, Tilia, and Agenar, who were also directly engaged with the skeletons. Almost immediately, the three were surrounded by a soft pink aura that appeared both to shield them and to augment the force of their blows. “Thanks!” shouted Val as she decapitated her skeletal adversary with a deft swipe of her scimitar.

Meanwhile, Teal, joined by Travis, observed the fighting from the doorway. Uncertain as to how best to help his friends, the water genasi guessed at a connection between the ghastly flame of the cauldron and the magic animating the skeletons. Uncorking his water flask, he employed the “call to the wave” cantrip. A large sphere of water glided across the room into the heart of the cauldron, causing it to splutter and fizzle noisily. Though a low flame still burned, the cantrip was not in vain. Two of the attacking skeletons froze in mid-action, the unnatural glow of their eyes extinguished. 

By this time, Agenar had managed to edge his way out of the combat zone and Travis devoted his attention to healing him. The tide was turning in their favor. Wynlynn succeeded in shattering one of the skeleton warriors with a volley of well-aimed arrows, and Teal put out the green flame completely by sealing the cauldron with ice. Returned to their state of suspended animation, the remaining skeletons were quickly dismantled by Val and Panthagion.

Flushed by victory, the party were riding high as they regrouped and proceeded into the next chamber. They found a marvelously intact dragon skeleton, and lost no time in harvesting a few teeth, which they knew would fetch a good price back at the Glade.

So far, the party had done a remarkable job of staying together in the darkness of the tunnels—though now Agenar and Travis seemed inclined to linger a little longer in the chamber with the dragon skeleton. 

Leaving Agenar with the gigantic skeleton, the others wandered into the adjacent chamber. In the dim light, they could see rows of sarcophagi arrayed along the walls. 

Just then, everyone heard a loud “THUMP.” It was clearly coming from the sarcophagus nearest Val.

“There’s someone trapped in there!” Val’s golden eyes shone with excitement as she began to explore the locking mechanism with her scimitar. 

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to open that?” Tilia sounded worried. There was a strange miasma pervading the entire chamber that had the firbolg on edge. The odor of death—mixed with something fouler than the stench of decaying organic matter.

“Don’t do it!” Teal begged, but Val had already lifted the heavy metal bar that was keeping the cover of the sarcophagus in place.

The thumping sound had grown steadily louder and found its echo in a similar, rhythmic pounding from the other sarcophagi. The party’s rapt attention was, however, on the one that Val had unlocked, for the cover had been violently flung open. The unbearable stench had intensified and they saw a figure wrapped entirely in ancient, yellowing fabric. Where its face should have been, two hellish orbs glowed lurid red. With a low, raspy groan, a mummy emerged.

For a moment, everyone in the chamber seemed mesmerized by the fearsome spectacle. Stepping out of its sarcophagus, the mummy jerked its head toward Val, who was standing just a few inches away from the displaced cover. It snarled: Val’s face scrunched up with revulsion but she didn’t flinch. But before she could move, an arrow pierced the mummy’s left side. It let out an indignant roar, but Wynlynn’s attack didn’t seem to have slowed it down as much as it should have.

Whipping out her scimitars, Val slashed through the mummy’s bandaged figure. Foul dust filled the air where her blades made contact, but once again, a blow that would have meant instant death to a living foe appeared to have far less effect on this one. How do you kill something that’s already dead? Teal wondered. The creature was now staring intently at Panthagion, who was advancing with his broad sword drawn. As Val had done, the holy knight, too, stood his ground against the mummy’s glare. Then he attacked with uncharacteristic ferocity, supercharging the blade with divine energy as he aimed his weapon at the mummy’s torso. Moving with surprising dexterity, the mummy managed to avoid the full force of the sword, but the searing blade nevertheless pierced it, causing the creature to howl in pain. 

Could methods other than physical force be more effective against the undead? Tilia seemed to have picked up on this idea, as with a gesture of her furry arm, she conjured a crackling bonfire around the mummy. The creature bellowed, tottering backwards as the flames consumed its bandages, revealing the decomposing flesh beneath. So perhaps the natural elements might offer some remedy against this abomination. Hoping to capitalize on Tilia’s success, Teal raised his arms and sent a strong gust of wind in the direction of the mummy. For a moment, the bonfire’s flames soared to the ceiling, and the mummy’s horrible cries were silenced by the howling of a powerful gale; but just as it seemed as if the creature might actually be buffeted back into its sarcophagus, it appeared to tap some latent reserve of strength and lunged through the flames at its attackers.

The mummy turned on Tilia, perhaps sensing her role in starting the fire that had singed it. With terrifying force, it swung its desiccated arm at the firbolg, who instinctively raised her left arm in defense—and just in time, for the impact of the mummy’s blow sent her sprawling. Where the mummy’s claw had made contact, her arm had been branded by an ugly, dark bruise. 

Hissing and growling like some kind of supernatural beast, the mummy might have inflicted further damage on its victim—had an arrow not penetrated its neck at that very moment. And then another—and another—which severed its half-bandaged head clear off. Wynlynn had finally put to rest the unquiet soul that had lingered on in its strangely preserved vessel for so long.  

“Tilia?” Teal had rushed over to see how he could aid the firbolg—she was unconscious. By this time, however, Travis, had joined them in the chamber of sarcophagi and was able to stabilize their companion. Panthagion examined her wounded arm, which seemed to be blighted by the mummy’s touch, and whispered a healing incantation. Although Tilia was able to sit up and speak to them, her arm showed no signs of improvement from the paladin’s healing magic.

Suddenly they heard distant voices coming from a chamber close to the entrance of the underground tunnels; abruptly, and without any discussion, they began heading swiftly toward the source of the sound. If they had stopped to examine their reasons, they would have been hard pressed to explain; perhaps it was some vague notion that the speakers might know a cure for Tilia’s arm—or maybe it was the heat of the battle, compelling them to find someone to blame for her injuries.

*******

And so they were walking, running, and then walking again through the unevenly lit tunnels—the hunters or the hunted? As they passed the narrow staircase leading out to the surface, Tilia stopped. “I’m going up. I won’t be any use in a fight and it’ll be a struggle for y’all to haul me out of these tunnels if I pass out again.”

Only Travis and Teal heard her, for the others were already closing in on the chamber from which the voices were emerging. Teal felt torn. Should he follow Tilia to make sure she was all right? Who knew what was waiting for them above? 

Tilia saw his hesitation. “Go with them. I’ll be okay. They’ll need you if a fight breaks out.”

Teal tried to smile bravely and rushed to catch up with the others—with a wave of his hand, he made the smooth rocky floor of the cavern slick with a layer of water, and skated toward his other friends. The trick work well—perhaps a little too well, for the next moment Teal found himself at the head of the party with Val as they burst into the chamber from which the voices were coming.

There, staring at them in surprise, were two humanoid creatures busy at work on a skull of gargantuan proportions. The pair were momentarily at a loss for words. Then the elven-looking woman smirked unpleasantly at them. “Well, the mistress will be really pleased to see you,” she declared, giving her partner a meaningful glance. Her human companion had dark rings under his expressive grey eyes, but he couldn’t be more than a year or two above twenty. He had a sympathetic look that suggested a willingness to respond to a language other than force. 

Teal could not bring himself to strike the first blow, notwithstanding the woman’s ominous remark. Perhaps they could avoid unnecessary bloodshed? 

“Umm … ca-can you help us? We got lost in these tunnels and our friend was injured by a mummy!” 

Val sighed, though not unkindly. “So peaceful,” she muttered as she brushed Teal aside, charging toward the elven woman, her scimitars drawn. She was not going to wait for the pair to act on the woman’s veiled threat. The woman drew her sword and met Val with equal ferocity; it was then that Teal noticed the corpse next to the giant skull. 

Seeing Val engaged in battle, Wynlynn leapt into the fray. She whipped out her short swords and approached the woman’s companion with a menacing glint in her green eyes. The young man looked alarmed. For an instant, he glanced questioningly at Teal, as if to ask “Why?” but then he seemed to make up his mind, unsheathing his rapier and pointing it threateningly at Wynlynn. The ranger needed no further invitation; in a single move that should have been as deadly as it was graceful, she struck. But somehow, the edge of her sword caught her adversary’s tunic, ripping it and hitting the stone floor—where the blade broke as if it were a cheap toy! The young man swung wildly at Wynlynn, but in his nervousness he stumbled and ended up jabbing the floor—thereby ruining his weapon as well.

Teal could see that the time for words was over; although he could see how scared the man was, there was little chance of leveling with him now. Still, he felt a pang of remorse as—with a wave of his arm—he sent a gleaming shard of ice sailing through the air at the young man. At home on Talpin, Ama Halla had taught him this spell primarily to hunt selkies [a marine mammal hunted by the Sea Women during the month of the Raven Queen; its pelt is used to make the diving suits worn by the Sea Women when free-diving for seafood]. The icy knife was true to its mark; the young man gasped as it pierced his exposed side—and then shattered violently into a million crystalline fragments, enveloping him in a pink cloud of icy dust and blood. For an instant, Teal experienced a curious mixture of desire and callousness—akin to the exhilaration of a shark sinking its teeth into its prey—and then he felt sick to his stomach.

The young man tottered, struggling not to fall; yet he had enough fight left in him to pull out a dagger. Teal couldn’t imagine that the man was capable of hurting anyone in his condition but Wynlynn, soldier-like in her discipline, was not taking any chances. Why was Teal just standing there, looking just a few shades lighter than the color of his hair? Didn’t he know that a mortally wounded enemy could be the deadliest of all, simply because they had nothing to lose? With a well-aimed kick, she sent the man’s dagger flying across the room; in the very next instant, a clinical twist of her short sword had put him out of his misery. 

Meanwhile, at the other end of the room, Val had the fight so well under control that Agenar and Panthagion were just standing close by, enjoying the spectacle of combat. Val had dealt a couple of serious blows to her antagonist but the woman stubbornly kept attacking in spite of her injuries. Brandishing her sword, she lashed out wildly at Val, but the fighter was too agile for her. The clumsy blows missed by a wide margin, prompting Val to cackle with wicked mirth—before inflicting further damage on her opponent. Defiant to the last breath, the elven woman forcefully stuck something she had been clasping into the neck of the corpse near the massive skull. Then she, too, was dead.

Wary of how the woman’s dying act might affect the corpse, Val proceeded to decapitate it. Once again, she demonstrated her nerves of steel by plunging her hand into the desecrated body and rooting around, searching intently for the object that the elven woman had inserted. When her first efforts proved fruitless, she employed her scimitar to butterfly the area where the object might be, completely unperturbed by the blood splattering all over her.

“What. Are. You. Doing,” deadpanned Panthagion, while Agenar merely looked amused. Wynlynn, who was now standing next to her friend, calmly wiped a few drops of blood off her own boots and placed her hand on Val’s shoulder. Without uttering a word, Val stopped hacking, and Wynlynn motioned to a gore-covered spherical object that had rolled onto the ground nearby. Triumphantly, Val picked it up and wiped it off on her breeches—it was an impressively large onyx crystal.

Agenar had by now made his way through a doorway near the skull. The others followed and were awe-struck by the majesty of the chamber awaiting them on the other side. It was a high-ceilinged space with an elaborately decorated altar at its center. The altar’s beauty, however, was marred by the presence of a dead orc lying hog-tied on it. There was also something vaguely disturbing about the iconography on the walls, which seemed at odds with the overall character of the chamber.

Agenar and Travis began looking avidly around, fascinated by the ancient artifacts and cultural treasures surrounding them. Val was suddenly quiet, almost pensive. “I’m going upstairs to check on Tilia,” she announced.

Wynlynn said nothing, but she immediately turned and headed out of the chamber with Teal close behind. Panthagion surveyed the temple for a moment, then turned smartly around and followed his departing companions. The swishing sound of his crimson cloak was receding into the distance when Travis looked inquiringly at Agenar. For once, there was no need for discussion—the two walked swiftly out towards the tunnel entrance. 

It was late afternoon by the time they emerged from the tunnels. Val, who reached the surface first, saw Tilia sitting on a large boulder close to the stone slab. Her eyes were closed; she appeared deep in concentration as the breeze played gently with her mossy locks. Perhaps it was her posture, or perhaps it was enormous proportions of the boulder, but Val was suddenly struck by how vulnerable the firbolg looked.

“Tilia, are you feeling okay?” Val asked. There was an uncharacteristic note of tenderness in her voice.

“Yes, how is your arm?” Wynlynn, just behind Val, was shocked to see how wizen and lifeless Tilia’s injured limb looked.

Panthagion walked up to the boulder and offered his assistance as Tilia slowly climbed down. He looked grave. “Mummy rot is one of the deadliest curses known in the realm. Lifting such a curse is beyond the scope of my power.” 

“I tried tapping the natural magic in the area to augment my healing spells, but they don’t seem to be doing much good.” Tilia’s speech was as measured as always, but there was a hollowness in her tone that sent waves of panic through Teal.

“We’ve got to get you to a capable cleric. Is there a village nearby where … ?” Teal’s voice trailed off as he realized how foolish the question was. They were nowhere near any settlement—the closest village would be the Glade, and that was at least a day and a half away.

Val had moved a short distance from the group. Then she turned to them and announced, “I’m going back down. There’s still a lot that we haven’t explored in those tunnels. Maybe we can find something down there that will help cure Tilia.” She was already starting to move towards the underground staircase.

Agenar seemed receptive to the idea. “It’s rich in ancient magical energy—I can feel it.” 

“Val, we’re in no condition to face another mummy or worse,” remonstrated Wynlynn. “Tilia’s arm looks really bad, and there’s absolutely no guarantee that anything we find down there—assuming we survive—will help reverse the mummy’s curse.”

“You know I hate loose ends. I never leave the job half-done.” Val seem unmoved.

“Please, Lia … Val … if you go back into the tunnels, you know I will follow you, and we will most likely perish fighting Corellon knows what without the others to back us up. Tilia’s arm needs urgent attention.” 

“I don’t need anyone to back me up.” Val was silent for a moment. Then her expression softened. “Okay, let’s get Tilia back to the Glade. Pronto.”

Although it was nearly sunset, Val and Wynlynn were adamant that the party should do their utmost to return to the Glade without any delay. The plan was to march continuously through the night, turning a day-and-a-half journey into an eight-hour trek. For once, there was no dissent—by now, all were aware of the gravity of Tilia’s injuries and galvanized by shared sense of purpose.

The long night march through the forest—while expedited by Wynlynn’s skillful pathfinding—soon took on aspects of an interminable nightmare. At one point, the party heard the roaring of some large beast in the distance and at another, they came across tracks that almost certainly belonged to a pack of zombies. And more potent than all these night terrors was the fatigue that was slowly beginning to overtake the party. Travis in particular was moving more woodenly than usual until he finally stopped completely like wound-down toy. “I can go no further,” he said sadly. “You guys go on without me. I’ll catch up when I’ve recharged.” The glowing crystal in his chest pulsed dimly.

“We’re not leaving anyone behind.” In an impressive display of strength, Val hoisted the tall Warforged across her shoulders and continued trudging on as if nothing had happened. “This is fun!” exclaimed Travis, his eyes sparkling. “We should do this more often!”

Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll on the others, too. Tilia wondered if the mummy’s curse were beginning to spread to her lower limbs; Teal started to see imaginary pools of water everywhere; Agenar was cursing quietly; and Panthagion was muttering misogynistic aphorisms. Only Val and Wynlynn forged on relentlessly, hardly slower than when they had first begun their journey.

Almost abruptly, the familiar lights of the Glade’s watchtower appeared in the distance. Too tired to speak, the party approached the village wordlessly, but they had never before been so glad to see the little town. After dropping Travis off at his school-house and Agenar and Panthagion at the Yeoman’s Apple [the Glade’s local tavern], Teal, Val, and Wynlynn brought Tilia to the town’s most advanced healer, the Cleric Wilhelm. The cleric made it clear that the cost of treating mummy rot would be considerable, but Wynlynn assured him that they would pay for anything Tilia needed. “Money is no object,” she declared with her usual quiet confidence. Teal nodded anxiously while Val grunted in assent.

Selûne and Io, twin moons of Álfheimr, were shining high in the night-sky by the time Teal had bid Val and Wynlynn good-night. He headed along the Princess Stream to the lockhouse where he was apprenticed to Uriah Styx, the town’s lock-keeper and ferryman. For a moment, he wondered if he should seek out his beloved friend Caedmon—after a performance, the bard could usually be found carousing with his fellow-musicians into the wee hours of the morning. Not tonight, he decided: he wasn’t sure where Caedmon had been singing, and if he succeeded in finding Caedmon, his childhood friend would insist on him staying over—which would mean not getting any sleep at all. No, he would need all the rest he could get, for Ferryman Styx would almost certainly expect him to be up early to make up for all the time he had missed in the recent weeks. 

Teal could almost hear the old man’s disapproving tone when referring to the “slackers” with whom his apprentice had become involved. It then struck him how senseless the day’s adventures would appear by most standards. To his industrious, working-class uncle, risking life and limb with little guarantee of recompense was a luxury that only foolish rich people could afford. His mentor Ama Halla and the Water Ashari elders would undoubtedly view the violence in which the party had engaged with distaste. Even Caedmon, fond as he was of Teal, would be hard pressed to find any glorious deeds to celebrate in song, for the party had fought no epic battle nor won any rare treasure. If anything, their purses would be emptier than before because of the cleric’s fees. 

And yet. Though they had conquered no formidable enemy, they had perhaps won a greater victory against themselves by placing the life of a friend over the chance of more tangible reward. And while Tilia’s injuries had resulted from their lack of circumspection, there was surely something praiseworthy in the party’s recognition of their errors and efforts to remedy the situation. As tired as he was, Teal felt strangely lighthearted. Their actions today might not qualify as heroic by conventional standards, but he nevertheless felt deeply proud of his friends. More than ever, he felt that they were the pod meant to accompany him on the Aramenté, the journey of self-formation to which he was committed.