Slithering Maze 2: Tea and Consequences

Basysus, 18, 1278: Windtracer Company Records Hall, City of Ishnanor. Feeling all those old chickens come to roost…

Author’s Note: Kingdom of the Slithering Maze is a serialized fiction story that is a part of a collection called the Windtracer Tales. It follows the adventures of Tela Kioni and her crew dealing with expeditions in and around the world of Awldor. There they hunt down lost, and possibly lethal, relics of the Ancient Order, a near-mythical kingdom lost to the centuries old cataclysm, the Great Collapse.

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Previously: An unexpected mishap pitted Tela Kioni and Kiyosi Valchar up against a series of complications while they recovered an Ancient Order relic called the Timebender Circle. Along the way, they confronted Fateveaver cultists, a trio of angry minotaur brothers who thought Tela saw too much, and an elven thief who couldn’t keep his fingers to himself. A tall order that called for an improvised plan or two so they could reach the city gates with the relic.

Basysus, 18, 1278: Windtracer Company Records Hall, City of Ishnanor. Feeling all those old chickens come to roost…

“You hired them, didn’t you?” Lorekeeper Ihodis Jenro asked.

His tone was light, idle conversation with a faint sigh behind his words. Just enough frustration to make me want to fidget.

Windtracers could, and sometimes did, hire local help when they really needed it. Three unruly minotaur bandits weren’t exactly on the ‘most hire’ list.

“What? No. Absolutely not! I would never,” I shot back, face pinched up in a grimace. “I had no idea the Zildoreth brothers were there robbing anyone.”

The Lorekeeper flicked his brown centaur tail and crossed his massive arms. It stretched his short-sleeved tunic to the limit. A litany of white scars from a former life as a pit fighter crisscrossed his tanned forearms. He gave me a stern look.

I replied with a perturbed grimace.

The last thing I ever wanted to do was disappoint or upset my old mentor. It isn’t like I planned how things would turn out. I just wound up having to make it up as I went along.

“Really?” the old centaur prodded.

Damn. I felt like I’d been caught stealing a cookie.

So, I stood my ground. After a little tug at my vest, I crossed my arms then gave Ihodis my best, most innocent smile for good measure. Sure, it was the one Ki swore made me look a touch devious. What did he know?

One of Ihodis’ thick, white eyebrows scaled his forehead, while concern painted itself across his face. He didn’t look a bit swayed.

Double damn. So much for my smile. Maybe Ki was onto something.

In the Windtracer Company, Ihodis was basically everyone’s doting, heavily muscled father who could punch through a door.

Which meant no one wanted to get ‘the frown’. It gave you this sudden, alarming urge to clean your room.

“Tela,” he sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose, “the Zildoreths…”

“Were not my doing,” I quickly interrupted, holding up my hands. “Really. Ihodis, you, out of anyone, know me better than that!”

“I do.” His sky-blue eyes softened as he gave me a wry smile. “But when I read reports like what you went through? I worry.”

Quietly, I gave the ceiling a withering look. No, I would not go clean my room. It was already clean.

Ihodis turned toward a fresh pot of tea on a nearby antique, brass-trimmed, wooden cupboard. Carefully, he filled two delicate, white ceramic cups, then handed one to me.

The aroma was heavenly, and the taste even better. It was like a giant liquid hug that said the world was all right. Those hints of rich cinnamon, lavender, and peppermint almost made me believe it.

“Well, they were the last thing I expected to see when I yanked open the door,” I explained dryly. “I panicked as if a pig in a loincloth jumped out at me.

Both the Lorekeeper’s eyebrows reached for the hairline of his steel gray hair.

“That’s oddly specific.”

I flushed, grimaced again, then pursed my lips.

“Uhm, well.” I scrambled for words. “It was a complicated job in the city of Sol. A relic collector had some weird habits.” I quickly drew a deep breath. “So, were the Archivists happy to get their magic pocket watch back?”

“Hm, yes.”

Ihodis took a deliberate sip of his tea to hide his grin.

“It’s safely back in Archivist hands,” he continued. “You know, Tela, they’re practically ready to adopt you after this.”

I waved a hand idly, like shooing a fly.

“I’m just glad they got it back.” I wrapped my fingers around the cup, letting the warmth seep up into my hands. It helped center my thoughts. “They really need better guards or something for their museum.”

“True,” Ihodis agreed with a nod. Then he squinted at the air while he chewed on a thought. “It bothers me that the Fateweavers wanted it. There’s no proof that the old thing is nothing more than an Ancient Order lunar clock.”

“I hate that the damn Fateweavers want anything,” I growled. “It doesn’t make sense what they’d get out of this. Usually death is on the line or something.”

Ihodis barked out a deep laugh as he stomped a hoof.

“Usually, yes,” he smirked. Sadly, that faded fast. “It probably means they planned to murder someone. Hopefully, getting it back stopped that.”

Ihodis studied me for a moment. That wasn’t often a good sign. I tensed.

“Tela? Walk with me,” he said.

Without waiting for a reply, Ihodis set out on a slow stroll across the cavernous Records Hall, hooves a slow clip that echoed in the air. I hurried to catch up. After all, he had four legs to my short two.

Elsewhere in the cavernous library turned museum, other Windtracers were hard at work. Some translated old journals or papers, others cleaned relics, or prepared for an expedition. It was the busiest room, if not building, for the whole Windtracer Company compound.

“Some visitors arrived yesterday asking after you,” he explained too casually. “Not the Archivists,” he added.

I caught the warning in his voice and suddenly serious expression. It was far more serious than I’d seen in a long time. A knot the size of a river eel curled up in my stomach, then tried to turn over a few times. The tea suddenly didn’t taste so good anymore.

“Oh?” I asked cautiously. “Asking about what?”

“A debt,” Ihodis said with a casual wave of a hand. “Something about an incident in Great Chasm? Before your Automatic Crystal expedition.”

I froze in my tracks, then closed my eyes. A dozen curses balanced on my tongue. It took a moment before I picked one to use.

“Hells,” I muttered.

Ihodis’ eyebrows raced for his hairline again as he stopped next to me.

“Now I’m really curious.” He took another long sip of his tea. “So why did a viprin shaman and his two bodyguards come all the way here from the Great Chasm to see you?”

“Ki. It’s about Ki.” My voice sounded small and distant to my own ears. “He had died. I… made a deal.”

“I see.” Ihodis reached over to give my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Go on.”

His tone was gentle and fatherly. Like no matter what I had done, he’d understand. That teacup suddenly became a whole lot more interesting. I fiddled with it, then remembered it still had some tea. So I tried to wash the dryness out of my throat.

“It was during the first expedition to the Great Chasm and Bathrogg Station,” I explained in a low voice. “The one where we brought back the Chasm Papers,” I added. “Years before we went out there for the Automatic Crystal.”

“I remember,” Ihodis said.

I inclined my head, then took a deep breath. The whole moment crashed over me. All the panic, despair, and all that running through the damp darkness. I really wished I had put this in my Windtracer report.

“After Vincent Vargas had run off for that silver amulet we didn’t know was cursed, I lost most of the crew. That was in my report.” I waved a hand idly in the air again. “It was just Ki and myself with the papers.”

“So you wrote,” Ihodis prompted.

A long sigh escaped me.

“I left out that Ki died of dripfang prowler venom.” A small shudder raced up my back. I tried to fight it down, but it didn’t work. “You see, I carried him until I was too exhausted to move. Eventually, we settled in by an underground pond. Deepland glowing blue mushrooms and all that. Even the water glowed.”

I pursed my lips, then scooped up the rest of my thoughts.

“A young viprin shaman was there with some guards. It was a spiritual cleansing quest to shed their skin for the season or something.” I shook my head a little. “Ki was dead. I… broke.”

The words tumbled out of me like rocks falling out of a bucket.

“I made a deal with the shaman. He’d revive Ki and bring him back. In return, I’d translate some old map for him, and I’d owe him one favor. Anything he wanted.”

“Anything?” Somehow, Ihodis’ eyebrows found a way to rise higher. It really brought out the worry lines around his eyes.

“Yes, anything,” I nodded. “Ki’s like my brother, Ihodis. I had lost so much, and I got a little desperate.”

Silence flooded the air around us until I thought I’d drown.

“So, I owe him. Them,” I added while I waved a hand a little. “You know.”

The old centaur nodded sagely. “Tela, I wouldn’t have done anything different. But it seems they’re eager to collect on this debt.”

“What do they need?” I asked quietly.

Dread wrestled with my curiosity. Neither one was winning. An invisible weight settled on my shoulders like an itchy wool cloak that never fit right.

“Oh, hell and high tides, whatever it is, I’ll do it.” I blurted out. “I owe them for bringing back Ki.”

Ihodis frowned a little, then sipped his tea before he replied.

“The shaman mentioned being upset over trouble with one of the Jata merchant herds. One excavating the viprin ruin of Toshirom Ifoon.”

“Temple of the Slithering Sun?” I translated. “Outside the Jata capital of Arth Prayogar?”

My mind leaped to Jata. It was a sprawling centaur kingdom to the northwest, with an absurd death-grip on the merchant trade there. The kingdom was run by a Merchant Herd Council. A bunch of self-styled noble houses that were really just trade guilds.

“They’ll loot it clean for profit.” I could feel the anger bubble through my words.

Ihodis started to stroll again, so I fell in step.

“True. From what the shaman told me, Toshirom Ifoon has a deep historical, and cultural, significance for them,” he explained. “The viprin would prefer the ruin be left alone, but they’ll negotiate with the Jata Kingdom over that.”

“So, what do they need me for?” I asked, frowning.

“A lost religious relic,” he answered gravely. “Well, formerly lost. They believe it’s in Toshirom Ifoon, and holds the power of the sun. Stories say that if assembled, the owner is granted the very power of the sun.” Ihodis shrugged.

That knot in my gut decided it was time to do backflips.

Relics were a fragile window into the past, telling the present a story of what life was like in another time. The Chasm Papers were a good example.

Others were more dangerous. This sounded like one of those, which made it worse that a greedy merchant kingdom might want the thing.

My frown dug deeper.

“So it grants some sun-based magic threads to spell weave with?”

“Supposedly,” Ihodis replied. “Wars were even fought over it. Blasted entire regions to wasteland. Some say the last wielder burned a hole through the sky. The viprin sealed it away when they couldn’t break it.”

He tipped his teacup to finish the last of his drink. At some point in all this, we had circled the room to wind up back where we started. Ihodis set his teacup back on the cupboard.

“The shaman can explain all this better than I can.” Ihodis crossed his arms again as he turned to face me. “They want that relic before the Jata merchant herds get ahold of it. After that, the shaman says his people plan to bury it again, this time very far away from Jata and anyone else.”

Pieces clicked into place in my head, like a crossbow ready to fire.

“So, they want me to get it for them,” I confirmed, thoughts racing. “Because the Jata merchant herd will expect a viprin to try and get it, not me. That says whichever Jata merchant herd is doing the digging, knows exactly what’s inside Toshirom Ifoon.”

“Also, the viprin trust you,” Ihodis added quietly.

That itchy wool cloak of responsibility wrapped a little tighter. If that relic was real, it could cause a boat-load of trouble no matter who had it. I rubbed the back of my neck, then met Ihodis’ gaze.

“Where’s the shaman?”

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Windtracer Tales is a work of pure, unashamed fiction. In fact, it considers itself rather fancy and quite proud of itself. Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, or reanimated is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot.

Also! Windtracer Tales and Windtracer: Adventures in Awldor is written with much respect to Starfarertheta and their work on the other half of Awldor.