Tuschait nestled into a fold between the hills. From a distance, the town looked small and picturesque, neat houses surrounded by dark green canola fields. It seemed more of a village to Karys; it appeared to comprise fewer than fifty buildings in all. On the outskirts, an enormous bronze sculpture stood in the long grass—an elephant and calf, trunks intertwined in perfect spirals.
Haeki leaned closer to the awrig’s window. She squinted against the late afternoon sun.
“Where do you suppose the train station is?” she asked. “I don’t see any tracks.”
“It’s probably on the far side of town.” Since waking, Winola had been subdued and withdrawn. Her pale skin looked sickly, and she kept worrying the broken skin around her fingernails. “There must be tunnels running through the hills.”
As they drew up to the tree-lined streets, the awrig slowed. It came to a final stop at the end of the main boulevard, and the faint hum of its propulsion working faded. In the quiet that followed, the sound of insects rang loud: the hissing of cicadas, the low, irregular rasp of bush crickets. There were no people around. A flock of green birds pecked at the soil along the edge of the road.
“What now?” asked Haeki.
Karys shouldered her pack, and pushed open the door. The air outside was hot and dry. She climbed down from the vehicle.
“We find Ferain’s relatives,” she said.
Neither Winola nor Haeki questioned this, although Karys caught them exchanging a meaningful look. Didn’t matter. Her plan might have flaws, but she would deal with each problem as it arose. One step and then the next. She needed to make contact with Ferain’s father before they reached Eludia. For that, she needed to use his family’s communication relic. For that, she needed to find his relatives. If she kept things simple, momentum would carry her. Thinking any further ahead was … She dug her nails into her palms. Unnecessary.
“He mentioned that his aunt ran a lodge near Tuschait,” she said. “There can’t be that many around here. We’ll just have to ask.”
Emptied of its passengers, Vuhas’ awrig produced a small sigh. It glided away slowly, back in the direction they had come.
Many of the buildings along the main boulevard were shuttered; old shops and cafés locked up and empty, the paint peeling from signs hung above their doors. The town looked more lived-in as they walked south; a few people sat on benches, or else swept well-kept yards filled with rows of potted plants. At every junction, large stone elephants held up signs bearing the streets’ names—Serenity, Peace, Joy. Smaller elephants guarded private doorsteps, trunks raised in greeting. Some wore homemade sunhats or scarves.
The door to a cramped curio shop on Peace Street stood open. It seemed a good place to ask for directions, so Winola went in and rang the bell on the counter. From the rear of the building, a man shouted something unintelligible. A moment later, he appeared through the fringed curtain between two stacking cabinets, looking flustered.
“Hello,” he said. “How can I help you?”
Karys and Haeki pretended to browse the dusty wares while Winola did the talking. Her ordinary Mercian accent was conspicuously absent; she spoke with a slight Toraigian lilt, introducing them as travellers. The man listened to her intently. He was middle-aged, short, and had large brown eyes. He nodded a lot.
“It’s wonderful to see visitors during the off-season,” he said. “These days, Tuschait usually only expects guests during early spring—for the canola flowers, you know? How long do you suppose you’ll stay?”
His tone suggested that he hoped the answer would be “forever.” Karys wandered over to the window display, where a velvet case of tarnished silver jewellery was turning grey with dust. Impatience gnawed at her, but it was better that Winola handle this. She suspected the man’s enthusiasm might evaporate if he realised they were Mercian. She leaned closer to the display, feigning interest in a swallow-shaped pendant. To her left, Haeki riffled through a crate of moth-eaten scarves.
“Not too long,” said Winola vaguely. “We were hoping to stay at a lodge nearby. We heard that it’s run by the Taliade family?”
The man hesitated. “The only lodge still open belongs to Malika and Frere Agonasis. The others, well…” He gave a little shrug. “They couldn’t really operate without the Auric. Now that sightings are so rare, demand has dried up. It’s been a hard blow for all of Tuschait.”
Winola made a sympathetic noise. “I can imagine.”
That must be the place. Presumably a branch of Ferain’s family with a different last name. Karys felt a grim satisfaction—fortunate, for there to be only one lodge; it would save them some time. Progress. Now she just had to find these people and convince them to help her.
“Very sad,” the man affirmed. “Business has suffered. A lot of people left, those that could afford to, but the rest of us persevere. It’s a good town.”
“Oh, I can see that. It’s very peaceful here.”
The man smiled. “Tusch’s lingering influence, we like to say. Do you need help reaching the lodge?”
“If you could point us in the right direction…”
“No, no, I’d be happy to take you myself. Let me just go ask my brother. We’ve got an old wagon, and he’s probably not using it right now. I won’t be long.”
“We couldn’t—”
He waved his hand, already walking toward the door. “No trouble at all. Just one moment.”
As he left, Winola glanced at Karys. She made an enquiring gesture.
“Must be the right place,” said Karys.
Winola moved closer to the window. “Ferain didn’t mention the name ‘Agonasis’ to you?”
“Not that I can remember. But if it’s the only lodge, then it has to be them.”
“Hm.” A pause. “He hasn’t…?”
“Not yet.”
Winola studied a display of carved figurines. She brushed the dust from the back of a tiny yellowwood elephant, and lowered her voice. “This is—Karys, I know you’re taking this hard, but you’ve got to be realistic.”
Karys kept her face blank. “How so?”
“We should find the station and head to Eludia directly. These Agonasis people won’t listen to you, especially not without proof that Ferain is alive.”
There was a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach. She turned away.
“Karys…”
“They’ll listen,” she said shortly. “I’m going to wait outside.”
The shopkeeper returned a few minutes later, leading two old mules hitched to an ancient wagon. He whistled cheerfully, and smiled at Karys as he drew up to the store.
“I’ll just lock up, and then we’ll be on our way,” he said. “Your name was…”
She spoke carefully, stretching the vowels a little. “Marishka. And yours?”
“Hetan. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She nodded. “Likewise.”
Less than a mile from Tuschait, the orderly patchwork of fields gave way to the wilderness once more. Burbling streams crisscrossed the road, the larger ones spanned by creaking wooden bridges. Thickets of fleshy-leaved purslane trees grew in abundance, and the clouds hung over the sky like lambs’ wool. Although it was growing later, the air remained the same: warm and breathless.
As they rolled along the track, Hetan talked easily. He seemed to have overcome his earlier nerves, and spoke with a natural warmth and charm, detailing local history and customs, telling jokes. It was simple enough to let him carry the conversation. Winola asked a question from time to time, and Haeki nodded without saying much. Karys watched the shadows of the hills grow longer.
She wasn’t being unrealistic. In fact, under the circumstances, her position was the only rational one. The only option that made any sense. Because if she followed Winola’s logic to its inevitable conclusion, then she wouldn’t even bother going to Eludia. She would just give up. Just … stop.
“The family tried a breeding program about a decade ago,” said Hetan. “They brought in Eludia’s most renowned animal workings practitioners; it must have cost an absolute fortune. It was never going to work, but for a while we got our hopes up. Sad, very sad.”
To come all this way, to drag Haeki and Winola all this way, for nothing? A trail of dead bodies in her wake, her savings drained, her life uprooted, indebted to Rasko, haunted by skin thieves—for nothing? She could not accept that. She could hardly bear thinking about it.
Or about him.
“There are still sightings, but the animals lost something when Tusch died. Or maybe they’re just old and tired now. I’ve seen them, of course, but they keep their distance and almost never show up for the guests.” Hetan pointed at the road ahead. “There you go. Sanctuary Lodge.”
Karys looked around. The mules were labouring over the ridge; the road beyond dipped into a sheltered valley, and there, hugging the slope of the hill, was the lodge. The main building sat between two rows of timber chalets, all perched on stilts and overlooking a dark lake. From a distance, the water appeared black, except where the late sunshine caught its wind-rippled surface and unspooled in ribbons of gold. Thickets of acacia and fever trees grew along the water’s edge, and the slopes of the hillside waved with grass like yellow hair.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” said Hetan. “And the Agonasis family was Favoured, you know. Back in the day. Ah, look, Old Panlo’s coming out to welcome us.”
A thin man with pale skin was walking up the road toward them, accompanied by a large grey dog with drooping jowls. When Hetan waved, the man nodded in acknowledgement. He looked to be in his late eighties, but moved with great poise and dignity.
“I brought you company,” called Hetan, as he drew up to the stable yard. There was only one other vehicle standing there, an ancient green awrig painted with yellow elephants.
Panlo nodded once more, surveying Hetan’s passengers. “I see so. Welcome to Sanctuary Lodge, dear guests. My name is Panlo Imest, and I am the house steward here. How may I serve you today?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Winola. She climbed down from the wagon, and dusted off her clothes. The dog wandered over to her, tail wagging slowly. She scratched behind his ears. “We were hoping to speak to Malika and Frere Agonasis? I believe we’re friends with a member of their family.”
Panlo’s expression did not change, but his voice grew more guarded.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” he said.
Karys’ stomach sank. She swung down from the wagon. “Why not?”
Panlo’s eyes settled on her, and he frowned a little. “Cas and casin Agonasis are away on business for the next month. As it is the off-season, I’m serving as the lodge’s caretaker during their absence.”
“A month?” Karys felt the ground crumbling beneath her feet. “That can’t—a month?”
“Indeed.” Panlo’s frown deepened. “Cas, may I ask where you are from? Did you travel far to reach us?”
“Quite far,” said Winola quickly. “From Basamat, actually; we’re making a tour of the countryside. Is there any way we might contact the Agonasises? Our business with them is urgent.”
Panlo was suspicious now, and even Hetan was beginning to look uncomfortable. “If you would like to leave a message with me, I could write them a letter, but I can’t guarantee a response. May I ask which family member you are friends with?”
“Ferain Taliade,” supplied Winola. “From Eludia?”
He shook his head. “I can’t say I’m familiar with the name.”
Is this the wrong lodge? Karys felt sick. She needed forward momentum, she needed to keep moving; the thought of remaining too long in one place filled her with dread. Maybe Hetan had been mistaken, maybe there was another resort nearby. Or maybe Panlo did not know the family that well. Her skin was cold, even standing in the sun. Why hadn’t she asked Ferain about any of this?
“Panlo?”
A girl—tall, brown-skinned, doe-eyed—poked her head out of the door to the main building. She was probably around sixteen, with a round face and expressive mouth. She smiled brightly at the sight of the small crowd gathered in the yard.
“Oh, guests!” she said. “Hello!”
Panlo’s jaw tightened, and his eyebrows drew together. He inclined his head politely toward Winola.
“Would you excuse me one moment?” he asked. “I must speak with—”
“No one ever turns up during the off-season.” The girl practically bounced as she walked toward them. “Don’t look so sour, Panlo. I won’t forgive you if you scare these nice people off. Hi, Hetan.”
Hetan gave her a weak smile. “Hello, cas.”
“Lindlee.” Panlo’s voice was strained. “A word?”
She ignored him, sunny and unbothered. “Welcome, honoured guests, to Sanctuary Lodge—where rooms are always available. What brings you to the middle of nowhere? I’m Lindlee Agonasis, by the way. My parents own the place, so I’m trapped here until term starts.”
Karys’ stomach fluttered. If this girl was the owners’ daughter, if there was still a chance that the Agonasises were related to Ferain …
“Please can we use your family’s communication relic?” she asked abruptly.
The girl blinked.
“Uh … why?” she asked. “How do you know about that?”
Where to even start? “I need to … I have to contact the Taliade household. It’s important. Ferain Taliade told me to come here. He said his family would help us.”
“This is preposterous,” said Panlo.
Karys kept her eyes on Lindlee. “I’ll pay whatever you want. Please.”
“Ferain?” Lindlee pursed her lips. “I think I had a second or third cousin who … What are his parents’ names?”
Shit. “I—”
“No, this has gone far enough.” Panlo quivered with suppressed outrage. “You will not harass my charge any further. We cannot help you, cas, and I must ask you to leave now.”
Lindlee scoffed, and cast the old man a remonstrative glance. “Don’t be such a prig, Panlo. It’s late, and Hetan brought them all the way here. Do you want them to sleep in the bush?”
He held his head high. “That is not our concern. Frankly, we don’t know who these people are, where they have come from—”
“Isn’t that part of running a lodge?”
“—and your parents left me responsible for your safety.”
“And they left me responsible for taking care of guests.” Lindlee folded her arms. “Or maybe that was just talk? Come on, we’re supposed to be hospitable. Think of Sanctuary’s reputation.”
The way she pronounced the word suggested that it was an ongoing point of contention. Panlo’s nostrils flared and displeasure radiated from him in waves, but he said nothing. The dog gave a small, unhappy whine. Lindlee turned her attention back to Karys.
“You wanted to use the relic?” she said.
Karys nodded. “Yes, to reach Ferain’s father.”
“Come inside, then. I’ll show you around the lodge, and see what I can do. I haven’t used the relic very much, but I’m sure I can figure it out.”
“Thank you,” said Karys.
Panlo grumbled, and turned away. He snapped his fingers, and the dog obediently trailed after him. Hetan muttered a sheepish goodbye.
“We appreciate your help,” said Winola.
He winced, and clucked his tongue at the mules.
It was dark and quiet inside the lodge. The black eyes of taxidermied buffalo glinted from high up the rough-plastered walls, and the pungent smells of varnish, leather, and thatch hung in the air. Stacks of wood were piled beside an enormous fireplace, but the grating was clean, as if it had not been used in some time. Bare tables stood below the windows, leading out onto a viewing deck for the lake. Everything was swept and tidy, if a little austere. Woven reed tapestries hung from the walls, and worn animal skins dressed the floor.
Panlo marched straight down the hall, his shoulders rigid and his steps loud. Lindlee watched him go, and doubt briefly flickered across her young face—she looked like she wanted to call after him. Then she shook her head, and rallied.
“Don’t mind him,” she said, turning to Karys. “He’ll come around.”
In truth, Karys did not care. It was clear what Panlo thought of her, but so long as Lindlee was willing to help, the caretaker did not matter. “I—sorry for the trouble. Ferain said his father wouldn’t meet us in Eludia unless—”
“No, no, don’t worry.” Lindlee waved both hands. “This is the most interesting thing that’s happened in weeks; I’ve been wasting away out here on my own. Well, not really on my own; there’s Panlo and Ree, and Cook Marvis, and Oma of course, but almost on my own.”
“Your parents left you in charge?” asked Winola.
“Sort of.” Lindlee let out a long-suffering sigh. “They want me to take over the lodge one day. This is supposed to be practice.”
A sudden bolt of hot pain ran through Karys’ jaw. She automatically brought her hand up to the soft triangle of skin below her left ear.
“Karys?” said Haeki.
There was nothing there. As quickly as the sensation appeared, it was gone again. She lowered her fingers. Rasko had told her she had a week in Varesli to make the delivery. This was probably his idea of encouragement. Bastard.
“Something wrong?” asked Lindlee.
“No, it’s nothing. I just—” Karys broke off, struck by an awful thought.
The parcel. Winola had said that Ferain took it, that he gave it to Vuhas as a distraction. Karys had been so exhausted that morning, it had never even occurred to her to check, but … Did we leave it behind?
“Actually, is there a washroom I could use?” she asked.
“Of course,” said Lindlee. “Just to the left of the kitchen, over there. Are you all right?”
“Fine.” A great yawning feeling opened up inside Karys. Her heart thumped. She could not go back. Whatever happened, she could not go back. She wanted to rip off her pack and tear through it right there on the floor. “You all go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
The washroom was warm and spacious. High windows flooded the space with light, and dust motes swirled through the air. Four white basins and a dressing table stood against the far wall, everything painted in contrasting shades of pale blue and orange. It smelled of soap.
Karys shut the door, strode across the room, and dumped her pack on the table. She fumbled with the clasps. Embrace, how could she have been so careless? If the parcel wasn’t here, how would she ever get it back? Stupid, so stupid. It would have cost nothing to check that morning. She threw open the flap, and shoved aside her clothing. Please. Please let it be here. I can’t—
The box lay on top of her spare shirt.
Karys’ muscles went weak with relief. She braced herself against the table, breathing heavily. Safe. Whatever else happened, she did not need to go back to that place. She could keep moving forward. The thought was dizzying; her heartbeat resounded in her ears. No need to go back to Vuhas. If she ever saw the man again, she did not know what she would do to him.
Down the side of the bag, against the canvas lining, was something else. Something new. Shaking, she picked it up.
The clear glass phial was roughly the length of her hand from index finger to wrist. It had an unusual weight, much lighter than it appeared. The neck spiralled as it tapered, the stopper was delicately fluted. There was nothing remarkable about it otherwise. A scrap of paper had been shoved inside, the torn-out page of an old book.
Karys unscrewed the seal, and pulled out the paper. A short message was written in black ink on the one side. The words were almost illegible.
Not 15000, but something.
Karys stared at the page. That was all that was written there. The final ‘g’ slanted violently, as if the hand writing it had slipped. The other letters were shaky, uncertain.
It’s done, Ferain whispered in her memory, his voice desolate.
She turned, and hurled the phial against the wall.
It hit the tiles with a sharp crack, and fell to the ground. Despite the force of the blow, the glass did not shatter. The phial bounced and rolled, coming to a rattling stop at the foot of the basin nearest the door. Not so much as scratched.
Beneath Karys’ fingers, the yellowed paper crumpled. She did not make a sound. The silence was all around, growing louder, ringing inside of her, inescapable, impossible to ignore, cold and empty and final. She could feel the ridges of the balled page inside her fist. He was gone. Her shadow was a dead thing at her feet.
It’s done.
She felt so angry, so unspeakably angry. The feeling lit her up from the inside, burning through her body like dry tinder. She could not move, could not speak. If the fire went out, she sensed that there would be nothing left of her, nothing but grief clawing through her chest like a blind animal.
It’s done.
She did not know how to bring him back.
The washroom door swung open.
“Hey,” said Lindlee. “So, I thought I’d check if you need a drink…”
She stopped at the threshold, and her smile faded as she took in the room. Her gaze flicked to the open pack on the dresser, then back to Karys’ face. In one hand, she held a glass of water with a slice of lemon in it.
“Should I … call someone?” she asked.
Karys pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, hard. She shook her head.
“It’s nothing,” she muttered.
Lindlee’s expression was dubious. “Well, you said that before, but you’ve gone really pale. Maybe you should sit down.”
“I’m fine.” Karys turned around. She closed her pack, began fixing the clasps. “Thank you for the water. You’re very kind.”
“Hold on, I think you dropped this.”
Karys glanced back, and found Lindlee crouching to pick up the phial.
“It must have fallen out of your bag.” Straightening, she offered it to Karys. “I’m surprised it didn’t smash. Lucky.”
Karys hesitated a second, then took the phial. “Thanks.”
The sound of wind chimes drifted through the open door. The noise was not loud, but it had a pure, piercing quality, a clarity like water. Lindlee started. A strange puzzlement crossed her face, and she turned quickly toward the foyer. Then she looked back at Karys.
“Oh,” she said, and her voice held an odd mix of curiosity and pity. “Oh, you’re the one who called them, aren’t you?”
“Called who?”
Lindlee didn’t seem to hear the question. She walked toward the door.
“Come with me,” she said.
The sun was setting over the hills beyond the deck, dazzlingly bright. Side by side and silhouetted in yellow, Haeki and Winola gazed down at the lake. Lindlee led Karys out to join them. The air had cooled; a breeze whispered through the trees and the tall grass. The chimes tinkled gently from the eaves.
From a distance, the animals seemed to be shaped from liquid gold—from trunk to tail, their skins were a numinous shade of platinum. Their shadows appeared black as night beside that glow; they came along the shore of the lake, leaving round prints in the mud. They walked slowly, quietly; there were nine of them, each around ten feet tall.
“The main herd,” murmured Lindlee. “It’s the first time I’ve seen them this year.”
The elephants were so graceful and lovely, so otherworldly in the twilight with the banks of bronzed cloud overhead and the shifting water at their feet, the trees rustling in the wind. They gradually made their way toward the lodge, then stopped and gathered closer to one another. Even from a distance, Karys sensed the animals’ attention. They were waiting.
“The last of their kind,” said Lindlee. Her voice was low and dreamy. “Tusch’s gift: our golden empaths. People used to come from everywhere to see them, to get close to them. When I was a kid, my parents tried to work ordinary elephants into Auric. They could make the animals gold, but the empathy? Never that. It was cruel, all those poor gilded fakes. It was never the same.”
Down below, the elephants fanned their ears, but were otherwise quite still.
“They’re beautiful,” whispered Winola.
“Yes.” Lindlee turned from the scene, and smiled. “They come when needed. This way.”
A small footpath wound around the side of the building, through the scrub and down the slope of the hill. Swallows wove through the air, quick and sure, swooping for insects that flew up from the grass. Frogs croaked in the water ahead.
Lindlee’s steps were light as she led the way. Karys followed Haeki and Winola. She felt strange, outside of herself. The world seemed vast and fragile around her: the touch of the air on her skin, the fall of the light on the grass. And ahead, the elephants. Their shining bodies moved with the breath of their great lungs. They waited. It did not occur to Karys to fear them; it would be like fearing the lake or the trees or the sky. Their eyes were large and sensitive, framed by long black lashes. When Lindlee reached the base of the hill, one of them—a female—stepped away from the herd and moved slowly toward her.
“Hello,” said Lindlee.
The elephant huffed. Her skin was wrinkled and creased, and the subtle light she exuded moved in barely perceptible waves, as if she existed underwater. She extended her trunk, and, with extreme care, tapped the girl on the head. Lindlee laughed. The rest of the herd approached, unhurried. They smelled like sun-soaked leather and dry grass and mud.
The female took another step, moving past Lindlee. Her dark eyes settled on Winola, and she cautiously stretched out her trunk in greeting.
Winola abruptly shook her head. She backed away.
“No,” she said. “No, I don’t deserve this. Not now. Not anymore.”
Her voice was raw. The elephant made a rumbling sound, and lowered her trunk. Winola continued to shake her head, stumbling backwards through the grass. She knocked into Haeki and flinched, but her gaze remained fixed on the animal.
Haeki’s face was calm. She looked down at Winola with an expression Karys had not seen before: clear-eyed, her features both soft and focussed. She reached out and took hold of the scholar’s wrist.
Winola breathed in sharply. Before she could protest, Haeki lifted her hand, raising it toward the elephant. The movement was smooth and quick, but not forceful—although Winola tensed, she did not pull away. Her arm trembled, a single shiver that travelled from her wrist to the ends of her outstretched fingertips. For a moment they simply stood like that, close and quiet. A lock of Haeki’s hair blew across her shoulder, brushing Winola’s cheek.
More tentative now, the Auric reached out again. Winola shut her eyes briefly. When the elephant’s trunk met her palm, she made a choked noise, and, all at once, something inside her seemed to give way. Her body eased like a sigh, the muscles in her shoulders unwinding. When Haeki released her wrist, she did not drop her hand.
Small and pale, Winola gazed up at the Auric. The elephant breathed slow, and she exhaled in time. She was crying. She did not make a sound as the tears ran down her face.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
The rest of the herd drew closer, and their glow suffused the air. A large male approached Haeki; without fear or hesitation, she reached up and patted the curve of his tusk. Cool air shivered through the trees further along the water’s edge. The lake pooled orange with the last of the sunlight, and the sky through the clouds was an insubstantial blue, almost grey.
A smaller female turned her head toward Karys. The elephant’s midnight eyes were ancient and penetrating, drawing in the world, laying its beauty bare. The hair lifted off the back of Karys’ arms. With the Auric’s concentrated attention upon her, everything else fell away. Her mind had gone still, and she was conscious only of a heavy, aching longing.
Shaking slightly, she lifted her hand.
The Auric blinked. Meeting her gaze felt like staring into the depths of the ocean—fathomless, those eyes. She regarded Karys in silence, and something changed in the air: a current shifting. For a second, the great ageless creature appeared unsure.
Then she turned away.
The other elephants moved slowly around one another, a few breaking toward the water to drink. Karys let her hand fall back to her side. She did not move; she stood untouched among the quiet giants. No one else had seen the denial.
The Auric were a herald’s gift, the Embrace’s creatures. She was Ephirite-touched; she could expect no grace. She knew that. And she would never have taken this moment away from Haeki or Winola. The Auric, the sky, the water. The breeze in the fever trees, the whisper of the grass, the intimacy they now shared.
In her left fist, Karys still held Ferain’s crumpled note. She gripped it tighter.
She had never felt more alone.