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Flexible Morals Ch. 02

By: TheWanderingCat



The kitchen was filled with the glorious smell of frying meat. It hung in the air like a cloud, hinting and teasing at the tastes to come. There were other smells, too, though none quite so pleasing as that of the sausages cooking over their fireplace. Phyre watched them, her mouth watering. For now, she had only a bowl of porridge to sate her appetite. She took great care not to eat too much of it. No need to fill up while the best was yet to come.

There was music in the kitchen, too. Her mother stood at the counter, carving off a slice of bread that would soon join the sausages. The woman sang as she worked, not just to see, but because she enjoyed it. A song that reminded Phyre of the morning, likely because that was always the time she heard it. She had no idea what the words or sounds meant. Nor did she understand those of her father when he chose to join in. The words were not her own, so they were not hers to know. Phyre chose not to accompany her mother's song, that morning, content to simply eat and watch as the sausages steadily approached edibility.

Abruptly, her mother's voice stopped, as did the sawing of the knife. "Some men are coming," she said to the room.

Her father raised his head and his voice grew a little louder as he searched outside. "Hmm, what could they want."

Phyre saw them too. Three men coming up their path that was little more than a series of stones in the ground. One was a Solar, his yellow-blond hair, gleaned with her voice, was shadowed beneath the hood of a dark cloak. The other two were Skytouched who didn't stand out quite so much against the greens and browns of the forest. She didn't recognise any of them. "Who are they?" she asked.

"Just some folk I've had business with, my dear," said her father.

That was nothing unusual. He was the only glassmaker for miles around. Just about everyone in town could be labeled as 'folk he'd had business with'. Samples of his craft could be found on shelves and in drawers all throughout their home. Even before that, her father had worked as a healer, using his magic to mend wounds and his knowledge to cure ills. That had been a while ago now. So long that Phyre scarcely had any memories of the time left. Now she was learning to work with glass too, so that someday she would join him in the trade, as had her mother. A family of glassmakers. Yet she couldn't remember ever seeing these men around her father's glassworks. Strange.

"Phyre, why don't you go into the woods and see if you can find us some fruit to go with breakfast, hmm?" her father suggested.

"Why?" she asked.

"For our company, of course. There's scarcely enough for all of us if they'll be joining."

Phyre considered this for a moment. Bread, jams, sausages and porridge, not really enough of any of it to share amongst six people, though she didn't see why there should be any need to. She opted not to voice that opinion. "But the sausages are almost done," she argued instead.

"I know, we'll save you plenty. Don't you worry about that. Now hurry along, we don't want to keep them waiting."

Phyre turned her head to her mother who nodded approval. The men outside were nearing the front door. "Okay, but don't let them get cold or burnt," she said, pointing to the sausages as she stood to leave.

"Don't worry. Be swift now."

Phyre nodded and moved towards the back door. She reached into one of the drawers in the kitchen counter along the way and took out a sack to hold the fruit. Then, with a final look at her parents and the men approaching, she said goodbye and went outside.

===

It was a sliminess that shrugged away sleep. Not morning noises or lights. Something moving that stuck to Phyre's cheek. She shuddered, sat up and reached to swat whatever the intrusion was.

"Hmm? Wait! It's me!" came a voice from right beside her ear.

It was then that Phyre realized she wasn't dreaming or imagining things. The frog was in her hood. She pulled it off and took him into her hand. "What were you doing?" she asked.

"Please don't be mad, my lady. I got cold during the night so I crawled inside. I didn't mean to frighten or alarm you."

She watched him for a moment. Watched as his throat pulsed with breaths. Then Phyre set him down amid the leafy branches of her bedding. She couldn't tell if he blended in effectively, blue and black on green and brown. Did those match up? Under Phyre's voice, he stood out starkly. But so did everything when she paid close enough attention. Considering where she found him, she guessed that his colors would be much better suited to a life in the river. His eyes were on her, she realized. "What are you staring at?" she asked.

"Your eyes. You've no eyes," said Drop.

"You didn't know that?" Feeling a bit self conscious, Phyre pulled her hood back on and down to her nose to cover the red-orange marks on her skin.

"I didn't. I always thought your hood was covering them." He was still staring.

"But then, how did you think I could see through it?"

"I assumed that the fabric might be thinner than it looked."

Phyre reached up and touched the cloth of her hood. It was thin enough to speak through and let a bit of light in. She couldn't tell if someone with eyes could see through it.

"What happened to your eyes? And what are those marks in their place? Did someone hurt you?" Drop asked.

"No, I'm a Vocal. We don't have eyes because we see with our voices instead. And these..." She touched a finger to the fiery marks on her hood. "These are my occumarks. I was born with them."

"What? You were born with them painted to that robe?" Drop croaked in surprise.

"No, I mean the ones underneath." She pointed up under her hood just in case the frog planned on having any further trouble in grasping this rather simple concept.

"Oh, I see." His eyelids went through one of their slow, thoughtful blinks. "So why wear the hood? I mean, if you've painted the same marks on it as the ones underneath, why wear it?"

"I don't know," she said, though it wasn't entirely true. Most Vocals wore a hood with their occumarks painted atop it, just as she did. The reason, as far as she could guess, was that the marks looked better that way. Her skin wasn't very even where the color changed to orange and red. It looked a bit like scar tissue, fleshy and unusual. "It's nicer than what's underneath," she added.

Drop croaked, this time as a low rumble. "Pah, that's preposterous. Here, take the hood off again and let me see." He waved a foreleg insistently until she complied, then he continued. "Why, look at it. There's nothing there to be ashamed of. Such a remarkable hue. Crimson and tangerine mixing together seamlessly. Look, there are even little dabs of saffron near the top."

"But isn't the skin there messy?" Phyre asked as she tried to keep her head from swelling.

"Nonsense! Besides, who could notice such a triviality past that pallet of color? I'll tell you who, nobody worthy of being your friend, that's who. No, there's not a thing wrong with your skin. Especially when you look at its frame as well. Your hair, my lady, such a match for your marks, such a deep red I've never seen on anyone. It should be a crime for you to hide it all away in that hood of yours." Every word that Drop flung out was accompanied by a wave of his legs as he buried her with praise.

"You really mean it?" she asked in a shameless effort for more.

"Of course I do. I'd never say anything I didn't mean. We frogs are experts on color for we color ourselves just as brightly. Why I remember my days at the academy and seeing all the senior students who were just about to set out, tadpoles no longer. Oh you should have seen the colors that they presented. Sapphire hides with spots of purple and black. Emerald bodies with fire-opal stripes and a bright gold trim around the legs." Then Drop hung his head. "Yet all I could manage was a blue drop and a black canvas. And to do so without even noticing..."

Phyre watched the little amphibian for a moment before realizing that he was after his own heaping of praise. "Oh, um. Why, your pattern is marvelous, Drop. It's such a deep shade of, uh... ebony, so like the night sky. And your blue is magnificent. You didn't need to color yourself with whole rainbows. Only two paints to work with and you've done so much with them. It's, um, elegant in its simplicity. Besides, your way with words more than makes up for the dull hide that you so foolishly think you have. I bet none of the frogs at the academy could speak the way you do."

Drop looked up at her, his eyes looking wetter than usual. There was a faint smile upon his lips. "Well, no they couldn't. I remember my teachers often telling me that I was astoundingly verbose."

"I'm sure they did." Then their conversation slipped away into silence as neither thought of anything more to say. With all the distractions since waking up finally gone, Phyre was at last able to focus on the morning as it developed. Her voice crept out and touched her room, bare of any furniture save the bed. Her body groaned from sleeping on the hardwood frame. She recalled the reason why she should be sad and suddenly she was. The fire and the ashes and the two mounds of dirt outside. She'd done so much crying yesterday but today was new and fresh and there was plenty of misery left to suffer through. Her face contorted, the happiness she had just been experiencing long forgotten. The pain always felt worse in the morning. Always newly remembered, learning, once again, that none of it was just some bad dream. She heaved and her vision blurred, her voice distorted with misery.

"Oh, come now. Don't go putting yourself through that again," Drop soothed.

Phyre didn't listen. She got to her feet, pulled up her hood and trudged into the hallway, leaving the frog behind. She wandered into the kitchen. With her voice soft and blind, she could almost imagine the room like it would have been on any other day. Good food ready to eat. Warmth in the air. A fire in the— no, not that. It was all gone now. Stone turned to dust, metal turned to puddles. A magical fire that burned irregularly. Some parts of the walls ended with a seamless cut where the wood had been vaporized. Yet, right next to such spots, there was wood intact and scarcely scorched. It was that knowledge that kept her from pretending that this was some sort of cruel accident. She went out the back door, still pretending that there were walls to walk around. A short distance from the ruins, right near the well where the earth was softer, was the pair of mounds. She knelt down between them as she did every morning these days. Two heaps of dirt, a stone at one end of each. She didn't say anything for there was nobody present to say it to. At least, not a whole person. The fire's effects on flesh had been much the same as wood.

"Do you know who the three men were?" Drop asked.

Phyre sent her voice to look at him for a moment. He was spattered with soot and morning dew from his journey. She shook her head.

"Why did they come here?"

Another shake of her head. The talking stopped for a while after that. The only sound came from rousing birds calling to one another. Lively chirps, screeches and caws. The noises sounded cheery, they grated on her nerves. "I can't wish to bring my parents back, can I?" Phyre asked.

This time it was Drop's turn to shake his head. "I'm sorry."

"Why not?" She could recall him mentioning it before but he hadn't been very clear.

"It's too much for me to manage."

"Is there anyone that could? Could I wish for someone who can bring them back?"

"I don't think so. I don't think there's anyone that can do such a thing. My teachers were rather adamant that such a wish would be impossible no matter the loopholes you might try to find. They said the same about wishing for someone to die." At least it sounded as though there was a bit of regret in Drop's voice.

"I don't think there's anything else for me to wish for, then," said Phyre. She brushed at one of the mounds and pulled out a shoot that was already claiming the ground. "Do I have to make a wish?"

"Well... I suppose you don't. You can't think of anything that would make you happy?"

She shook her head and slumped even lower on the ground.

"Phyre, I won't accept it. It may take days or weeks or months or even years, but I'm not leaving you until you're happy again. You saved my life, now it's clear to me that I have to do the same for yours."

Despite her situation, Phyre felt a little spark of warmth at his words. Then came a touch upon her leg as he hopped there and sat down, his big, black eyes to her marks. Drop made a firm croak before speaking again. "It's easy to be sad. You can sit around and be miserable because life was cruel to you, but anyone can do that. You have to be the person who stands up and keeps going even when the weight of the universe is trying to push you back down. Don't let life hurt you without getting a chance to hurt it back. You and me, Phyre, we're going to show life what we're all about. And we're going to start by doing something about those filthy clothes you're wearing."

Phyre wiped her nose on her sleeve and allowed the faintest of smiles to spread across her lips. Drop looked ridiculous when he spoke in such a way. His legs flailed with froggy gestures and his throat swelled on the height of every sentence. Yet it worked. The pain wasn't gone, maybe it would never be gone, but, listening to the little wishing frog, Phyre could almost believe that she might be able to get past it. "Okay," she said. "I'll try."

===

"I don't think I can go home again," said Phyre. With her hood down, she reached back and wrung more water from her hair.

"Whyever not? I mean, it is rather a mess. But where else would you go?" Drop asked from his place on her shoulder.

"I d'no. Maybe I could go somewhere really far away."

"How?"

"I have a wish, remember?"

"Oh, right."

A wash had done wonders in a way Phyre hadn't imagined possible. All the fatigue and other distractions of the past few days had kept her from realizing just how dirty she had let herself become. She and Drop had gone to the river and he had claimed, as soon as she had entered, that the water ran much dirtier where she stood. He had exaggerated, of course, but not by much. Phyre had sunk into the river, its water icy from the nighttime chill, and let it simply wash around her. After a good five minutes of letting the cold cleanse her body, she set about scrubbing her robe while still in it. All her other clothes were gone to the fire and this had seemed the best way to wash the only thing she had left.

Now they walked together along the road that led to town. She hadn't returned to the house after her wash, instead opting to follow the river south until it met with the bridge, then continue west until she reached civilization. It wasn't much of a road, really just a stretch of gravel that meandered through the trees, winding to avoid the occasional impassable obstruction. These woods were filled with points where the hills rolling through them suddenly dropped away, almost as if someone hadn't painted the slope properly or had forgotten to add a piece in.

"How much father do we need to go?" Drop asked from his perch on her shoulder.

"Not that far. I think there's only four or five more bends until you can see it." Phyre quickly ran the path through her mind. Next came the sharpest twist of all of them, followed by one that had two enormous boulders on either side.

"We should do something to pass the time."

"Okay, like what?"

A dull rumble of ribbits sounded by her ear as Drop collected his thoughts. "Perhaps..." the frog began. "I should tell you a story, seeing how you've told me one, even if it wasn't a very happy story."

"You don't need to do that."

"No, no, I want to. But which to tell..." Another series of ponderous hums emanated from Drop. "Aha, I've got one that happened rather recently. In fact, it took place only a few days before you rescued me."

"How does it go?" Phyre asked with a bare spark of interest.

"Right, well... How does it go... Yes, so I've been wandering the forest for quite a while. Actually, I was following the river which isn't really wandering, I suppose. Anyway, after such a time of wandering—"

"Why were you wandering?"

"All wishing frogs need to wander. How else are we going to get in enough trouble for someone to come along and save our lives and claim our wishes?"

Phyre considered the idea, then nodded. "I guess that makes sense."

"Good. As I was saying, I'd been swimming along the river for a good amount of time when I decided that I'd seen quite enough of it. So, rather than keeping on trundling through the water, I hopped up onto the shore and figured I'd try a bit of a wander through the trees to see where that would get me. So there I was, hopping away for a good couple of hours when I thought to myself 'goodness me, this is exhausting.' It was then that I realized how better suited we frogs are to a life in the water. So I thought I'd head back and keep swimming. Unfortunately, being small as I am, the forest looked quite similar in every direction. I tried heading along the ground that felt dampest, figuring that it would lead me back, but it only took me to a swamp and that's—"

"What swamp? There're no swamps around here."

"A bog then. Or a marsh, whatever you want to call it. The ground was all runny with stagnant water, most of the trees were dead and rotting and there were mushrooms everywhere. A regular swamp, as far as I'm concerned."

"Right..." Phyre still wasn't entirely convinced about this alleged swamp. She'd lived in the woods for quite a while and had yet to find a place that sounded like Drop's description. Then again, it was quite a big forest. Perhaps his story took place much further away than she had initially thought.

"Anyway, soon as I realized my error, I turned to go. That was when I saw it. The monster of the forest. It was huge and—"

"But there aren't any monsters in the forest," Phyre interrupted yet again.

Drop made a loud, impatient croak. "Listen here, girly, I'm the one telling the story. If you think that you can tell it better then by all means, keep interrupting... No? Good." Drop uttered another croak, this one sounding considerably more satisfied. "So there it was, the monster of the forest. Big, black and furry with these horrible eyes and a scythe for a tail. I tried to flee but I was much too terrified to even move. Then, before I knew it, the monster was standing right over me."

Phyre waited several seconds for the rest of the story. When it didn't come, she spoke up. "Then what happened?"

"Hmm? Oh, I managed to get away."

"How?"

"With the most frantic, speedy sprint of hopping that I've ever done."

"But what about the monster?" Phyre asked as her brow furrowed in frustration.

"What about it?"

"It let you run away? Just like that?"

"Mhmm."

"Why?"

"How should I know. Maybe it had already eaten or it didn't see me. It was quite a big monster, after all. Big things don't often notice we smaller beasts, present company excluded."

"Right..." Phyre mumbled, her frown persisting. "That wasn't a very good story."

Drop croaked in a way that almost sounded like an offended gasp. "Well I'm sorry, my lady, but it's the best I could do on such short notice."

"And there aren't even any monsters in the woods. Nor any swamps. Not around here, at least. And what do you mean it had a scythe for a tail?"

"The tip of its tail was all silvery and crooked. It looked like a scythe to me. I'm sorry if my attention to detail isn't satisfying enough for you but it was rather hard to focus with the monster bearing down on me."


Flexible Morals Ch. 02



Phyre ignored the huffiness of his tone and focused instead on the holes in his story. Overall, it didn't make a lot of sense, what with scythe-tailed monsters and swamps that didn't exist. "You made it up, didn't you? None of that actually happened."

"Gah, of all the— And to think that I—" Drop half-growled for a second before the sound cut itself off. When he spoke again, he sounded repentant. "Alright, I'll concede that you're rather astute for someone without any eyes. Yes, I made it all up. I don't like leaving favors unreturned, you see."

"Don't worry about it. Besides, we're almost there."

The town wasn't a very long walk from her home, barely more than ten minutes. It fell into her voice's range as she rose atop the crest of the slope on which the woods wandered. It was quite a decent sized place that had grown during her memory. The town fed off all of the land around it, its homes pulled from the trees and the earth, its goods harvested from the woods or fished from the river. Yet the true value of the town, she knew, came from the iron mine. The mine was what gave Fissure its name. Phyre couldn't see it yet. Her voice didn't carry that far unless she made it and then people would hear, but she knew what it looked like. A big patch of brown where the forest had been peeled back to make room for earthmoving equipment. She felt glad to have never had anything to do with it.

"Goodness, it's a rather big place, isn't it?" Drop remarked.

"It's not that big," Phyre contested as she started downhill towards Fissure's outskirts.

"Pah, that's easy for you to say. See you're built to fit this place. But me, mmm, I could go in there and get lost wandering back and forth for days. It'd take me hours just to cross the street," he made a nervous croak at such words.

"It's lucky you've got me then."

"Still," he went on having apparently not heard her. "I don't see why we really need to come here, seeing as how I could wish up whatever you're after."

"You're not afraid are you?" she asked, turning her head to him.

"Pah, we wishing frogs are born fearless. But that doesn't mean we have to go charging into the great unknown like this."

"It's not unknown." Phyre returned her attention to Fissure as it started coming into range of her voice. The outermost houses looked no different to how she had recalled them moments ago. Towns always grew very slowly. Sort of like a tree or the land itself. "Besides, I have to check on the shop." That was the main reason for their coming here. Phyre bit her cheeks as she faced the thought of how many days it would have been since anyone had been at her family's glassworks. Would people be wondering about that? "If you're so worried, you can hide in here." Without even waiting for his response, Phyre cupped the frog from her shoulder and placed him inside the threshold of her right sleeve.

Fissure was in its usual stages of waking up for the morning routine. Folk were leaving home, most clad in gritty, mining duds or other work clothes that they hadn't bothered to clean lately. Why make the effort if it was only going to get filthy again the very next day? The ones who walked did so at a trudge while the Skytouched swooped overhead on their jagged, airy wings. She watched the graceful creatures and wondered, for a moment, what it would be like to have atohs of her own so that she could join them as they flew on the wind. Beneath them, crowding the main street that Phyre was crossing, were travelers readying to set off. Traders mostly, their wagons laden with whatever iron crafts or goods that they had loaded up on to sell elsewhere. There wouldn't be any glass on those wagons for a while.

Phyre moved on from that thought and stepped briskly down an alleyway that would take her closer to the river's edge where it ran past the town. She had so many memories of standing by as negotiations took place between her parents and merchants from afar. Such normally took place at the shop which had been built on the riverside so that it had plenty of access to water. That was where many of the town's forges were built too. Everything that needed fire was put where it was wettest.

It wasn't immediately clear to Phyre what she was seeing. Almost as if her mind was refusing to accept the reality. For the most part, the street by the river looked as it always had. A cobbled road with an occasional weed poking its head between the stones. Houses on one side, many of which doubled as their owners' stores, workshops on the other. A blacksmith, employed by the mine, who made tools for digging. Then two who worked the more delicate side of metal, then her parent's glassworks, then another blacksmith whose main trade, she had observed, seemed to be arming the town's garrison. Except, this time, the glassworks weren't there. Her voice rose and fell, sweeping the spot where it had been. There had to be something wrong with her vision, that was all.

"That's not it, is it, Phyre?" asked Drop with a croak. "Don't tell me that's the place."

She walked towards the burned out husk of a building that the frog was referring to. All that remained of it were the stone supports for the walls and a few blackened beams. She could tell already that this fire was different. Nothing but the wood had burned, unlike her home. What that meant, she wasn't quite sure. Maybe this one had been accidental, though it seemed unlikely. She reached the spot where the entrance had been and placed a hand upon a part of the walls remnants. "Who did this?" she asked herself.

"Phyre? Is that you?" came a woman's voice from up the street.

Without turning in that direction, Phyre sent her voice to see who was approaching. She recognised the figure immediately as Mrs. Lanis, a long time friend and customer of her family. Phyre could also recall a few faint instances in which either Mrs. Lanis or her husband had come with complaints of a fever or a torn muscle and her father had fixed them up. Though the days of healing had been years ago.

She was rather pudgy as far as Skytouched went, especially around the cheeks. Seeing her approach invoked memories of the baked treats that she sometimes brought around, prepared while Mr. Lanis worked in the mine. It seemed to be a sort of hobby for her, more than a profession. Phyre waited until the woman grew closer but couldn't think of anything to say once she had. Normally they would talk inside the shop. There wasn't a point to that now.

"Phyre, my child, where've you been? We've been terribly worried having seen neither hide nor hair of you since the fire. Niptri and I were terrified that you'd all been inside at the time, though I couldn't think why you would've been. Oh, it does my nerves wonders to see you here and unscathed. So tell me, how is your family managing? Has your father set about finding a new spot to set up?"

For several moments, Phyre could only stare at the woman and try to sort out everything that she was hearing. Despite her best efforts, it was a fruitless venture. Instead she collapsed against the woman as a pain wracked her guts. "Hatra, they're dead! They're both dead!" she cried.



Flexible Morals Ch. 03



The slip of paper didn't offer much to go on. That was to be expected, given what it said.

Hardened folk of flexible morals needed in Fissure. Proceed to The Vouiareli Nest.

Malik guessed that the place would turn out to be a seedy alehouse somewhere in the tangled back alleys of the town. Why did folk have such a problem with doing their dirty work somewhere cleaner? Did they feel that the perceived similarities in filth meant that the location had to fit the job? In his experience, it wasn't necessary. He folded the paper up and slipped it into his jacket pocket, then peered around the establishment from the relative privacy of his booth.

Hendrick's Door was the sort of location where a respectable mercenary knew to do business. There was a code in place here, not like those lawless spots that The Vouiareli Nest would likely be. Here, the room was silent and efficient. If you were alone, nobody bothered you. If you were in a group, nobody dared to listen in. The tables away from the walls were only for show or to expose the folk who didn't belong here. There were no waitresses or anything like that either, nobody with a reason to pass by your table whenever they wished. If you wanted anything, you went to the bar. That was where the paper had been waiting for him, as per the unwritten code that had existed long before he came around.

Malik would follow the lead on this paper. When you were offered the chance for a job, you at least saw it through insofar as learning the full extent of what was being asked. Otherwise the offers would stop coming. He lifted the mug on his table and took a thoughtful sip of the orange Ember that rolled around within. The acrid drink scorched his tongue at first but soon fell away to its sweeter, more refreshing, aftertaste. Something about the paper gave him the sense that this client was a bit higher brow than usual. Perhaps it was the term 'flexible morals' that gave it away.

Another sip of his drink saw it finished and he stood to leave. No point in delaying things. He would travel to Fissure this very night.

===

Theirs was a cozy, well-off sort of home. Miners were paid well in Fissure to compensate for the long, exhausting hours of potentially dangerous work. The living room's floor was layered with so many rugs that Phyre's feet barely made a sound as she walked through and sank onto a padded chair in the corner. She let her voice wander around and take in everything there was to see. A table in front of her, a low one for sharing snacks with guests. Around it were several other seats and a comfy-looking sofa that had a deerskin draped across the back. Its antlers were hanging on the wall opposite her, accompanied by a shelf on either side that housed other sorts of household trinkets. There was a pearly white horn on a little wooden stand that propped up one end of a line of books. On the shelf beneath it stood a stone figurine of a bear standing on its hindlegs and roaring.

On the wall behind her, between two windows whose glass Phyre couldn't help but wonder if she had had a hand in making, was a painting. She couldn't quite discern what it was about. It was always rather difficult to get one's voice to see past the rifts, valleys and ranges that paint made on canvas. She much preferred Vocal artworks. Those she could understand, their design suited more for seeing by sound rather than light. Phyre thought back to the one that had been in their house, positioned to be seen as soon as you came in the front door. It was of a sunrise coming over a forest, the lines of color and form stretching out from the canvas' center to create a depth to the work that none but a Vocal could achieve. That painting had been lost to the blaze along with everything else.

Hatra reappeared from the kitchen with a plate of bread slices, each smeared with a different spread. She set it down on the table then sat opposite Phyre and gestured for her to take what she wanted. Phyre reached for one that was spread with a bright strawberry jam and took a single, reserved bite.

Hatra shook her head. "No, don't you worry about being polite. You must be starved, they're all for you. And don't you dare think about trying to find somewhere else to stay, you can sleep here as long as you need."

Phyre nodded and took another taste of the bread. She hadn't eaten anything since the night before and that hadn't been particularly filling. Now Hatra seemed intent on giving out everything she had to offer. She had been that way since Phyre told her the story of the fire on their way over here. Meanwhile, Drop had retreated into the sleeve of her robe to avoid being seen. The frog had told her that it was best not to reveal himself as a wishing frog to anyone else lest they try to steal the wish. It was a thought that Phyre could respect, so she had let him take up residence inside her clothes despite the occasional touch of his somewhat slimy body.

"And you've no idea who those men were?" Hatra's words brought back the present.

"No. I've never seen them." Phyre reached for another slice of bread, this one covered in a grayish paste that, after some consideration, she recognised as mushroom meal mixed with a bit of water. It wasn't something that normally appealed but hunger was in charge for now.

"By Dawn, what's the world coming to?" Hatra asked. She'd been asking it a lot since Phyre had told the story, as though the Eternal Empress had something to do with all this or could help in some way. Maybe she could, but it was silly to rely on such a thing. They were much too far away from the Empire's capital. "We'll see these men brought to justice, don't you worry about that. Soon as Niptri gets home I'll send him out again to fetch one of the garrison and we'll pass on the word to them. Once Mr. Gilbride learns that there are brigands running about his town, oh he won't give himself a moment's rest, let me tell you. Those rogues'll get the noose, don't you fret."

Phyre thought about the man to whom Hatra was referring. Mr. Winston Gilbride, the Patab of Fissure and owner of the iron mine. He lived in a big house up on the hill towards the northern end of town. Phyre hadn't ever met the man in person but, from what she had heard, he sounded rather nice. Thoughts of justice hadn't really entered her mind yet. Now that Hatra had brought it up, she could feel the embers building. Those men had burned everything and walked away. Something had to be done about it.

"But what if they're gone?" asked Phyre. Two of the men had been Skytouched, they could have gotten anywhere by now if they so desired.

Hatra waved the thought off. "Pah, they'll be tracked down sure enough. What goes around comes around, just you wait."

What goes around comes around, Phyre repeated. The thought gave her a small comfort.

"Anyway, tomorrow we'll see about getting you some fresh clothes. I can smell the days on you, girl, no offense meant. Here, have you finished with those? That should tide you over till dinnertime, hmm?" Hatra reached forwards and retrieved the tray that now held a single lonesome slice of bread topped with a carrot paste that Phyre didn't like. The woman started back in the direction of the kitchen.

"Thank you," Phyre said quietly as Hatra left.

"Think nothing of it, deary. Your parents were good folk. There's only one type of person who deserves a fate like theirs and that's the type who did this. If I could just get my hands on those..." Her voice trailed off as she went out of the room. Soon the sound was replaced by a clatter from the kitchen, followed by a curse. A few seconds later, Hatra poked her head back into the living room. "You go and set yourself up in the guest room and I'll be round in a minute with some fresh linens."

Phyre nodded, stood and headed towards the hall. Her voice crept out and located the guest room behind the door nearest her. She opened it and again looked inside just to be sure. It was a colder room than the others she could see, no sense of people spending a lot of time in it. The decor was rather plain compared to the rest of the house. Just a bed, a dresser and another unreadable picture on the wall. Not even a window. Then again, considering the house's position, a window would probably only lookout on the house behind this one. This place wasn't nearly as comforting as her own bedroom had been. With a soft breath of sadness, she sat down on the bed that was currently stripped bare.

"Well, if anything, it's certainly a step up from where we slept last night," said Drop from inside her sleeve. She had felt the slightly discomforting sensation of him crawling towards the end to peer out. Now, when Hatra returned, he would have to slither back down. They definitely needed a better solution to this. Drop gave a croak and shuffled further towards the end of her sleeve until he was right on the cuff. "Mind, it could do with a bit of sprucing up. I remember our rooms at the academy had quite a bit of flavor to them. The frog I was living with had a way with furniture, I can't recall his name at the moment but—"

"Shh," Phyre cut him off. It was meant as a warning about Hatra's approach, something she was rather grateful for. With her voice, Phyre could see the Skytouched moving from the kitchen with an armful of bedclothes.

"She's coming?" Drop gave a mighty leap back into the depths of her sleeve. She felt a bump as he bounced against her arm.

"Here you are, deary. Why don't you hop up and I'll get this sorted for you, hmm?"

Phyre stood aside while Hatra covered the straw mattress in a plain sheet, then dressed the bed with a blanket and pillow. As soon as she had finished, she left the room again with a brief smile. Phyre shut the door, sank back onto the bed and waited for Drop to emerge. He didn't take long.

"So, have you thought about your wish much more?" he asked.

Phyre shook her head. It was such a big decision, one that she could hardly hope to make until she was completely at ease. "There's too much to think about."

Drop made an agreeing croak. "That there is, my lady."

"Do you know what other people have wished for?" she asked.

"Can't say I do. They only really taught us how to give the wishes and how to be tough enough to ensure that we got to."

"How do you give a wish?" asked Phyre, suddenly interested in the process.

Drop looked up at her. "I'm afraid that's a trade secret."

"Oh." She searched for something else to ask. "Do you know what will happen when I make my wish?"

For a few moments there was only silence. Phyre looked at the frog to find him staring off into space, his throat pulsing with thought. After a little while he looked back up at her. "I don't really know. Never gave it much thought, to be perfectly honest. We each only have a single wish to give... What's going to happen when I give mine? Am I still a wishing frog?"

It sounded as though those questions were the kind to direct to oneself rather than the kind that received answers. Still, Phyre thought about them and, for a moment, felt a sort of worry that her taking her wish might do something bad to Drop. Would he turn into a regular frog? "I'm sure it'll be okay," she said to reassure herself as much as him.

Drop ribbeted and bobbed his head. "Yes, yes of course it will be. I'm just worrying for no reason."

===

 "Why don't we go straight to Mr. Gilbride's manor instead?" asked Phyre as she trailed along behind Hatra. Despite the woman's certainty when she had first made the plan, her husband had proven reluctant to go traipsing around town after a day spent in the mine. A brief argument later and Mrs. Lanis conceded to fetching the guards herself, and Phyre had decided to join her, eager to ensure that justice went as it should. Yet there were no guards to be found. They had searched street after street to no avail. The evening was entering full swing so that may have had something to do with it --- a transition to the night watch as the daytime patrol went home. Phyre pointed into the distance in the direction that she knew the Patab's estate to be. She couldn't see the actual house but she could see the cobbled path that led to it as it wound up the shallow hillside. "It's right up there. Besides, there's bound—"

"Oh look," Hatra cut her off and paused to voice her thoughts "We're right by Mr. Gilbride's manor. I suppose we could take the matter right to him rather than bustling around in search of the nightwatch." With that decision sorted, the Skytouched started off again, seemingly oblivious to Phyre's presence, though she continued to chatter to herself as she headed towards the manor's own road. "Mind, Mr. Gilbride doesn't normally take visitors without an appointment, and certainly not at this time of night. But I'm sure he will set the time aside to hear you out, seeing as how it's such an important matter and all." Hatra looked back and gave the girl a smile.

For a moment, Phyre felt a flush of anger at the woman. That smile, as if it made everything all better. As if any of this, any sort of justice, could make things better. No matter what happened, her parents would never be coming back. There would be no more singing at breakfast or thanking Dawn together for the dinners that they had. No glass working with her father or sewing blankets with her mother. All of it was gone, never to return. Her throat threatened to clamp shut at those thoughts and she forced herself to look to the present. Hatra, despite her occasional tactlessness, was doing quite a charity here. There was no reason to be mad.

There was a somewhat subtle transition from the Fissure's street to that of Mr. Gilbride's manor. Weeds growing between the outtermost cobblestones became a rarity until they finally disappeared altogether. The grass, too, had a neater look about it, trimmed down with a gardening whip, no doubt. As the drive continued, little shrubs with carefully groomed foliage began to line the sides. The bushes grew larger as they neared the manor's towering walls and front gate. A calculated form began to develop in some. That one, a deer's head. Another, a stone column with a ball on top. Phyre couldn't remember another time when she had seen such careful gardening. A number of the houses in Fissure kept little window boxes and some of the bigger ones had a small patch of green out front but none were anything like this. Even her house in the forest, despite the acres of land to themselves, had had little more than a patch of vegetables to be tended when the season was right. Contending with so much nature seemed a fruitless effort unless fruit really was the product of such work. Here, all the greenery seemed largely for show.

The outer walls of the manor stood tall and firm with wrought iron spikes topping the stone. There was a heavy wooden gate separating them from the interior of the walls. Beside it stood two of the Patab's personal guards. Hatra strode towards them, encouraging them to quit leaning against the wall that they protected and to come to attention. Both looked to be Skytouched and each carried a spear.

"Declare your intent," commanded the one on the right, once Phyre and Mrs. Lanis had drawn nearer.

Hatra regarded the man with a flash of a glare before speaking. "We're here to see Mr. Gilbride."

"The Patab doesn't take unscheduled visitors at this hour nor any other. Now begone." He waved his free hand towards the town.

"You go tell the Patab that this regards the matter of a murder and that he will want to see us at once." Hatra folded her arms insistently on the final word.

The man on the left spoke then as he stepped forwards. "A murder's a job for the nightwatch. Nothing to trouble the Patab with."

"It's the nature of the murder. The town's amok with brigands, killing whomever they please."

"Oh," the right said with a condescending grin. "And where are these 'brigands'."

"Well, goodness knows where they've gotten to now, but they certainly aren't hanging by their necks on market street as one should expect. Makes one wonder what the watch is doing with themselves if a trio of murderers are given free roam of the town. Why, myself and my neighbors have started to wonder that very thing. What've all our taxes been going to? A whole garrison of no-good layabouts who wouldn't know one end of a sword from the other? Three days it's been since these brigands did their killing and looting and we've not seen hide nor hair of any since, nor any wheels of justice in rotation, for that matter. I tell you, Fissure's going to the wolves."

Had Phyre any eyes, she would have blinked as the guards just did. The two men were silent for a moment and she grew worried that they would emerge angry at this ruthlessly blunt woman in front of them. Instead, they started to look a bit flustered.

"Brigands you say?" asked the left.

"That's right. Running all over the roads without a care in the world."

The men exchanged a look and seemed to undergo some silent deliberation. After a few moments, the one on the right spoke. "Seeing as how it's such an important matter, you may enter. You're to go up to the house and find Raleek, he's the butler. He'll take your story to the Patab and then it'll be decided whether you meet him in person or not."

"Ah, finally some understanding." Hatra looked back at Phyre and gave her another smile. This time it felt more welcome as there was actually something to smile about.

The guard on the left hammered a fist against the wooden gate. "Open up. Visitors coming in," he commanded.

Her voice cast over and around, Phyre could see several guards hurrying about behind the wall as they undid locks and worked mechanisms. The result saw the two heavy doors start to move and groan as they swung slowly outwards. Soon enough, Phyre and Hatra were waved inside. The cobbled road continued a short ways beyond the gate until it widened and looped around itself. At the center of this was a pond which looked so perfectly circular that it had to be made by man. Even the reeds growing at its edges looked as though they had been placed there with some design in mind. Off to the left was a big, wooden structure that Phyre had to guess was a stable, judging by the carriage and pile of hay bales outside it. She couldn't see any horses nearby and didn't want to raise her voice any louder to do so.

As they rounded the pond, a building that she quickly decided had to be Mr. Gilbride's home came into view. It stood tall and wide with loads of windows, each lit from within by an oil lamp or a fifrey plant perhaps, though the latter grew much better further south and the light looked a bit too yellow anyway. Ivy crawled the mansion walls in some places, and this too appeared intentional as it climbed along these wooden frames, each painted white. That struck her as rather odd. In the forest, you would never give ivy a chance to take root in your home. Its presence damaged the wood and eventually made holes through which all manner of insects could get in. Then again, Mr. Gilbride's mansion was made of stone so perhaps it wasn't so much of a problem. An entirely stone house, now that was a sight. Yes, there were bits of wood here and there but the vast majority of the building was rock. What's more, Phyre realized, the mansion had three floors. Three. Most houses in Fissure only had so many as two floors and some not even that. Yet here was one with three, plainly visible by the sets of windows proving it so. She suddenly felt a burning desire to go inside. If the exterior was this impressive, what would the interior be like?

"Drop, you have to see this," Phyre whispered into her sleeve. She pointed her arm towards the house, careful to hide that action from Hatra, and felt the slimy rummaging of the frog crawling up for a look.




Flexible Morals Ch. 03



"Goodness me," he breathed with a startled ribbit. "Now there's a grand sight. Why, compared to this, the academy seems like a muddy little hole in the ground. That's actually what it was, to be perfectly honest. Of course, it always felt a might more impressive back then."

Phyre drew her arm back in, worried that her friend might be being too loud. Her movement did little to discourage his talkativeness.

"See, with my wish, you could have a big, old mansion of your own whipped up in no time. Just think, a warm, shiny place like this, all to yourself."

Phyre did wonder about it as Drop jumped back down into her sleeve. A mansion like this one, all she had to do was say the word. She could put it somewhere in the forest on a hill of its own. With a stable and walls of stone and a garden filled with things from all across the world.

"Just say the word," came Drop's muffled voice through her clothes.

She didn't say the word. Perhaps, after all this was over, she would. For now there needed to be no distractions. No great house to lose herself in until this had been seen through. She returned her attention to what was happening around her. A man, clad in a fine, blue-trimmed tunic and pants, was opening the door to come out and greet his visitors. He descended the pearly marble steps, clasped his hands together, and spoke.

"Good evening, my friends. I am Raleek. I understand that you have a matter to put before my master."

"You've got that right, butler. There're brigands in Fissure. What's Mr. Gilbride plan on doing about it?" Hatra thrust an accusatory finger towards Raleek as if she expected him to be the one to solve the problem instead.

"Indeed, this is a grave concern." His brow furrowed thoughtfully but it looked more for show than anything else. "The master is enjoying his evening meal, presently, but I shall put it before him nonetheless. If you would be so kind as to accompany me inside. You may wait for his response in the hall."

"That's more like it. At least there's somebody around here who understands how important this is," said Hatra to nobody in particular as she and Phyre followed the butler into the house.

The hall, as Raleek had put it, was certainly not anything like Phyre had been expecting. Her voice found it immense, cavernous yet brightly lit, as it stretched outwards and upwards beyond the mansion's threshold. A stairway stood towards the back and led upwards before splitting left and right to lead to the second floor. Further up, a balcony overlook from the third, yet there were no further stairs in sight and no other clues on how to get up there. Perhaps elsewhere in the mansion. There was certainly enough room for it. On the ground level, several passageways led off to the sides, each lit with lamps along the walls. She had been wrong about the building being entirely stone. Only the outside was. The inside had a wooden floor, laden with rugs that served to mark walkways, and walls that had been adorned with all manner of decor. A shield, painted a magnificent blue, crossed with two swords hung on one side with two banners to accompany it. A pair of statues guarded the foot of the stairs. One depicted a man holding a pickaxe at arms length. The other had a similar pose only it was holding a rock instead, perhaps meant to signify a lump of ore from the mine.

Raleek darted had darted away while Phyre admired the decor. She hadn't seen which way he had gone and he was already beyond the reach of her voice. The mansion, despite its size, had quite a bit of noise throughout. She could hear footsteps on one of the floors above and voices down a passageway on the left. The words from that direction she couldn't make out, though they sounded excited and jovial. Then there came a sudden outburst of hearty laughter and her curiosity became too much. Phyre raised her whispered song of sight to a greater volume and peeked down the passageway. Her voice crept along, past several doors that led to lifeless rooms, until it came to one that looked like a dining hall for the servants, judging by its lesser decor. Several people were currently occupying it and chatting amongst themselves. Two of them looked familiar and, for a moment, she struggled to recall when she had seen them before.

Phyre's veins ran ice when she realized, and recalled a morning several days ago, a morning with her mother's song and the smell of a good breakfast to come. Three men approaching from outside the kitchen window. Two Skytouched and a Solar. These men here were the former.

In the moments after that revelation, Phyre's mind went into overdrive. Here, no more than a couple of dozen meters from where she was standing, were two of the people who had killed her parents. There came a flash of desire to confront them, only for it to be stamped out by the fear of what would result. What if they saw her? What if anyone else here saw her? Would they try to kill her like they had her mother and father? The world seemed to sway.

"Hatra," she managed. "We have to go."

"Hmm? Whatever do you mean?" asked the Skytouched. "The butler will be back any minute. We might just get to speak with Mr. Gilbride about those brigands."

"But they're here." Phyre took a step towards the door.

"Who? You're not making any sense."

"The men. The ones who burnt down my home. They're over there." She pointed towards the passageway that led to where they were seated. Neither had moved.

Hatra followed Phyre's arm and ended up staring at a patch of empty wall. "But, there's nobody there."

"No, down the hall. They're sitting around a table in a dining room. Just two of them. I don't know where the third one is." Suddenly that thought chilled her body even more. If the two Skytouched were here, the Solar probably was as well. He could be anywhere, sneaking up on her this very instant. "Can we please go?" she begged. They needed to retreat and think of a different approach to justice.

"But how can you— oh, with your voice, that's right. You mean the murderers are right down there? We have to tell Mr. Gilbride at once."

"No, we should leave. What if he's in charge of them." Phyre wrung her hands together. Why couldn't this wretched woman see the danger they were in.

"Well, I should imagine he's in charge of them. I'm sure just about everyone here is in Mr. Gilbride's employ, it's his— hold on, you think that he's the one who put them up to it?" She looked incredulous at such an accusation.

Phyre could only nod.

"But that's absurd. Mr. Gilbride is a kind man who takes good care of Fissure. This is nothing more than a misunderstanding and it's our duty to clear things up so that these men can be punished. Now if you're going to keep acting like this, you're welcome to wait outside. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of this myself, should you wish it."

Phyre opened her mouth to protest some more but the look on Hatra's face made her close it again. She considered her options. There was little in the world that she would have liked less than to stay another minute in this mansion, especially when the third man could make his appearance at any moment. Yet, at the same time, she didn't want to leave Mrs. Lanis' side. There was danger here and she couldn't let the woman wrap herself up in it.

Unless, there's only danger to me, Phyre realized. It was a distinct possibility. Mr. Gilbride, if he truly was involved, would probably overlook Hatra's intrusion as nothing more than an innocent woman with a concern to voice. "Okay, I'll wait outside," said Phyre.

"I'm sure I shan't be too long."

She pushed open the doors and hurried out of the mansion and into the cool, night air. Phyre kept a brisk pace as she walked around the pond, aiming to wait for Hatra outside the main gate, but not so brisk as to attract too much attention. Her voice swept around in search of the Solar. There were several who made her heart skip as she spotted them with their blondish hair and pale, yellow suncrests embedded in their palms. None were the one she was so afraid to see.

"I say, was that all true back there?" asked Drop. In her haste, she had forgotten all about the frog and hadn't felt him moving up her sleeve. "Are two of those rogues really staying here?"

"Of course that was them, why would I lie?"

"Right, well this is certainly a dilemma, isn't it. Do you really think that they could be in league with Fissure's Patab? What is a Patab, anyway?"

She was almost at the gate. One of the guards there was watching her approach and readying to open it up. "In Litides it sort of means 'father leader.' And I do think that they might be working for him. Why else would they be at his house?"

"But surely he didn't... He couldn't have hired them, could he?"

"I don't know. We'll have to find out."

Phyre passed through the gate unchallenged and proceeded downhill. Once she had rounded a bend in the road and was safely out of sight of the manor, she stopped to wait for Hatra. Phyre sat herself upon the hillside and found it growing damp with the evening. Such discomfort didn't faze her, the true concern came from wondering about Mrs. Lanis.

"Do you think she'll be alright?" Phyre asked.

"Seems to me that she can handle herself." Drop fully emerged from her sleeve and hopped out onto her knee. "Ah, there's a good moon out tonight, nearly full."

"I can't see it," Phyre mumbled, her mind elsewhere.

Drop made a startled croak. "Can't see it? But it's right in front of you, plain as day."

"No, I mean it's too far for my voice to reach."

The little wishing frog pulsed his throat thoughtfully. "So, you've never seen the moon before?"

"I've seen it in reflections or in paintings."

Another pause while the frog considered her words. "Seeing with your voice sounds awfully confusing to me."

"No... Well, it is a bit. It's a kind of magic. I can see anything that my voice can reach, but that's all. Colors and writing are a bit hard to figure out sometimes and reflections are really tricky but you just have to focus enough."

"Mmm, I still think it's rather perplexing."

Phyre raised her voice for a moment to sweep it back towards the manor. No sign of Hatra yet, but it hadn't been very long. As the minutes crept by, Phyre began to grow more and more worried. What might have happened to the woman? She tried not to think about it. Indulging in such fantasies would only allow one's mind to wander away and assume the worst. Hatra, despite her bluntness, wasn't stupid. She could take care of herself just fine. Besides, nobody had any reason to think that she had some special involvement with the brigands.

Except that she's letting me stay at her home, the grim, logical side of Phyre's mind filled in. Would such a thing come up in the conversation? Would it even mean anything to anyone? No way to know until it happened.

"She's taking a while," said Phyre to the frog who was still gazing at the sky.

"Mmm, perhaps just waffling on a bit. Seems to me she does that quite a lot."

"I suppose."

There was a moment of silence before Drop uttered a chirping ribbet that almost sounded as if he was trying to clear his throat. "On the subject of wishing for a house, my lady, I've been meaning to ask you something."

"What?" She turned her head down to him.

"Well, once all this is over, I'm not quite sure where I'll be off to. Do you suppose, when you wish up your mansion, that you could wish a nice, shady pond to go with it? Somewhere for me to live, I mean." He stared at her with his big, wet eyes filled with hope.

"Of course I can. A pond with all the shade you could ever want. And no strider birds, I'll make sure of that."

"Oh, thankyou my friend, I hadn't even thought of the birds. Yes, it would be nice not to have to worry about those ever again." Drop fell into silence then, his throat pulsing happily as he turned around to stare at the view again.

Phyre looked at the frog and his markings. Such a perfect tear-drop shape on his back, it was quite remarkable.

"You're very welcome," Drop said suddenly.

"What?"

"For the pond," he explained.

The words didn't quite reach Phyre. Further up the road towards Mr. Gilbride's manor, a distraction had emerged. She could see Hatra approaching, alive and unharmed.



Flexible Morals Ch. 04



Author's Note: This chapter will introduce a new character who I need to address preemptively. I'll try my best to do so without spoiling anything. Everything that I'm about to say will be quite confusing until the character is encountered.

This character is one that had always existed in its current form before my submitting of anything to this site. There is nothing significant about this character beyond that which is suggested in the story. Any connections that you will no doubt have immediately are purely as a result of me not planning ahead as well as I could have. I could have changed things around but that would have meant changing the character in a way that I didn't like.

As I said, confusing. But it'll all make sense soon enough.

===

Malik stared far down the street, past the point where it rose away from the rest of the town and wound uphill. A large manor stood there, he had seen it upon first setting foot in Fissure. Now he looked at it with a fresher, more knowledgeable set of eyes, narrowed down as if to filter out distractions.

The Vouiareli Nest had proven every bit as seedy and unpleasant as Malik had anticipated. A dank, brick-floored dungeon of a place, built originally as a cellar to some other business above it. He had made a point to be as brisk with his business there as possible. Fortunately the owner had been happy enough to oblige and had quickly pointed Malik back to the street and in the right direction.

The right direction happened to be the place that Malik had been observing for the past five minutes.

Nobles, rich folk. Malik hated dealing with them. Sure the pay was usually good but it didn't always compensate for the client. Something about these types, maybe the way they saw themselves as above everyone else, made them a nuisance, sometimes worse. This happened to be one of those times.

The property had a good set of walls which the actual manor peaked above. Malik didn't like the thought of going that far inside. How many personal guards did his potential employer own? What role did this person play in Fissure that they should need folk of 'flexible morals'. Already Malik could feel a strong sense that this would turn out to be ugly. But work was work and, at the very least, he had to hear the assignment before turning it down. It was the polite thing to do.

===

As seemed to be the case nowadays, Phyre found herself waking up to the disappointment that she had woken up at all. Once again, the dreamland had only been that: a dream. Tragedy continued to smother this chapter of her life. The night had been fitful, proven by the headache and tangled sheets she awoke to. Although the dreams, perhaps nightmares, were fading fast, she knew exactly what they would have been about. The fire and foraging through the woods at her parents' behest. Could that have been intentional, her errand? Had they sent her away that moment to keep her safe? Part of Phyre wished that they hadn't, but that was just the morning talking. Her wounds were always freshest when the memories in sleep peeled back the scabs. But tonight hadn't just been about the fire. There were new nightmares to be plagued by. She lay in bed thinking about what had happened last night. The murderers at Mr. Gilbride's manor, it couldn't have been a coincidence, surely. Yet Hatra's retelling of what had happened after Phyre had left suggested that the Patab was innocent. The woman hadn't been able to meet with Mr. Gilbride, but, through his butler, Fissure's leader had promised to take immediate action. Had his words been hollow or did he really mean to follow through?

With some difficulty, Phyre pried herself from such thoughts and sat up. Even without the dreams she would have had a rough night. The mattress was certainly welcome after sleeping among leaves for several days, yet it still felt alien compared to the one she had lost. The blankets too, and the room, only served as a constant reminder. Drop wasn't lost, though. She could see him stirring from his sleeping place under the covers by her side. At first, Phyre had been a little concerned for the frog's safety lest she roll on him during the night. But he had reminded her that wishing frogs were exceptionally tough and that he would be fine.

"You look a little ragged, my lady," he said after sliding his eyes open, closed and open again.

"I didn't sleep very well." Phyre went to pull her hood overhead then paused and decided against it as she recalled the praise that Drop had given yesterday morning.

"Mmm, nor did I, I'm afraid. It's lovely and warm here but a little too dry for my taste."

"We shouldn't complain." Phyre stood up and looked at herself. Despite yesterday's wash in the river, her robe was rather unsightly. There weren't quite so many spots and dabs of filth as there had been before but the overall color was several shades closer to brown, not something that she wanted. Hatra had mentioned last night that she would see about procuring some new clothes for her guest. Had that happened yet? How late was it anyway? Phyre sent her voice through the house in search of an answer. The shadows she found by the living room windows suggested that the sun was halfway through its ascent in the sky, something that she could never properly witness for herself. Quite a sleep in, then. The night had been rough, after all. Hopefully Hatra wouldn't mind their late-rising tenant.

"So, what do you suppose is on today's agenda?" asked Drop.

"I don't know. I guess we should see if anything has happened with those men. And I want to pay another visit to the shop. What's left of it, I mean," Phyre added.

The frog nodded to their schedule and Phyre scooped him up to be deposited in her sleeve.

"As another thought," he said as he hopped down his cave of cloth. "Perhaps we could see about getting a better mode of transport for me. Not that I've anything against this sleeve. It's just, when you drop your arms to your sides, things get a little uncomfortable."

Hearing these words, Phyre quickly lifted her arm to a horizontal. How many times had she put the little amphibian in peril through such carelessness. "I didn't even realize."

"Oh, don't worry yourself, my lady, it's not too much trouble. I can easily cling to the sides, you know."

"No, you're right. We'll figure out something new."

With Drop stowed in relative safety, Phyre headed from her new bedroom and towards the kitchen. When she entered, she found it empty of life. There'd been no noises in the house as she had awoken. No doubt Niptri had gone to the mine. Hatra must have gone out as well. Phyre surveyed the room, wondering if it would be alright to help herself to breakfast without them present. The bread bin on the counter was open and she could see half a loaf inside. Some jams had been left next to it as well, unless that was where they always lived. Phyre carved off several slices, slathered them with a teep jam and sat to eat at the kitchen table. She placed Drop on the floor as he voiced his desire to 'poke around the nooks' in search of his own breakfast. She tried not to think too much about the implications there. Not while she was eating.

As Phyre neared finishing, a click came from the front door, followed by a creak as it swung open. She cast out her voice and saw Hatra entering, a large, wooden box cradled in her arms. She staggered her way into the kitchen and set it down on the floor before spying Phyre.

"Ah, you're up," said Hatra. She stretched tall, both hands on her lower back, and groaned as a soft crack replied. "I had a look around for some Vocal robes but I didn't have much luck. The only thing I could find in the market that was any sort of similar was this cloak."

Hatra rummaged through the box and pulled out a long, woolen cloak that had been dyed a murky green. Even at a glance, Phyre could see that the hood was much shorter than the Vocal length. It would barely reach past her brow, let alone go all the way to her nose. She hadn't expected the woman to have much success, there were hardly any Vocals in town. Her kind, it seemed, were rather scarce outside the Empire's capital. Much of the clothes that she had owned throughout her life had been homemade. With a jolt of sadness, Phyre recalled the hours of cutting and sewing cloth with her mother, each outfit crafted with love and care. "That's okay, I just want something clean."

"Well, I found plenty of that." Hatra let the cloak fall back into the box before giving her back another stretch. Then, as though the action had given her a new perspective, her face lit up. "Oh, how could I forget. As I was coming back, I went along Limonite street. You know, the one that Mr. Gilbride's manor joins to. Anyway, I'll just say that there's quite a sight on the roadside that I think you would like to view."

Phyre's brow creased beneath her hood. "What is it?" she asked.

Hatra stooped down to dig around in the box, fishing for whatever else she had purchased. "Oh I won't say. You'll just have to see for yourself. Now, I've got my baking to get to so I'll need some space once you're finished. Lots to do what with the Iron Moon only a couple of days away."

The Iron Moon, Phyre had forgotten all about it. Fissure held an annual, springtime celebration on the full moon of Veer. The Iron Moon gave thanks for the prosperity that the mine had brought their town. She had been to quite a few of them. They were typically held in market street with plenty of food and dancing and excitement. Mr. Gilbride also held a more private celebration up at his manor but she had never been to any of those. Phyre nodded to making room for Hatra and endeavored to consume the last of her breakfast as quickly as she could. Once that was done, she stood and took the box, that now held only clothes, back to the guest room for inspection. Its contents, as she had feared, left a lot to be desired. Many of the garments looked to have been worn by someone else for quite a while. Some showed signs of multiple repairs, from stitches where there shouldn't have been any, to whole patches of fabric that didn't quite match. But Hatra was performing a charity so there could be no complaining. Swallowing whatever pride she had left, Phyre chose a pale-blue tunic and a pair of brown trousers, both of which looked at least a bit respectable. To her pleasure, there was a pocket stitched to the tunic's breast that, although a little too small, seemed suited enough to house Drop for the time being. Once he had been relocated, she cast her robe to the bed and made a note to wash it properly later on. With her dressing out of the way, Phyre headed past a clatter in the kitchen and out the front door.

There came a tinge tinge of apprehension at first. It wasn't often that she ventured outside unhooded. Fortunately, there was nobody present on the street that the Lanis' home fronted onto so Phyre had a chance to steel herself towards the stares that she would no doubt be receiving soon enough. She tucked a strand of scarlet hair behind her ear, then ventured into the town, heading towards Limonite Street.

"So, any ideas on what Hatra meant back there?" asked Drop from his new spot in her pocket.

"I think I know, but it doesn't make sense."

"Hmm? What doesn't?" he chirped.

Phyre didn't reply. Secretly, she was quite certain of what she was going to find on Limonite Street. After all, that was where the gallows were. Who knew why Hatra thought that her words would be sufficiently mysterious to keep that knowledge at bay. Just another of that woman's peculiar quirks, most likely. Yet Phyre found herself hoping that the inevitable wouldn't be true. Despite all that those men had done, she didn't want them to be dead. Not just yet, at least. Not until she had had a chance to find out why they had done what they had.

Her pace quickened across the market street and she kept her focus on the path ahead. Trade normally ramped into full swing around midday and continued until late in the afternoon. Yet, even in the relatively-early morning, there were plenty of Fissurites out to stare at the young, Vocal girl as she hurried past unhooded. Why was she so interesting, Phyre had to wonder. There were other Vocals in town, stare at them instead.

The market street quickly joined with Limonite before breaking off and heading into the western woods that led out of town. Phyre cast her voice further here, as soon as there were few enough people around that she was comfortable in doing so. The whisperings of her vision eventually licked at the beginnings of a wooden frame. As Phyre strode closer, more of the gallows came into view. Then a figure hanging from a noose, then another. She stopped as soon as the third noose, and the end of the structure, could be seen clearly. The wrongness of what she was viewing forced out all disappointment that both Skytouched were, indeed, dead, for they were the only ones who were dead. The third noose was empty, there was no Solar to be seen.

"Are we there? Why've we stopped?" Drop strained against the fabric of his pocket as he forced himself up to peek over the lip.

"He's missing." Phyre pointed to the empty noose.

"Who's missing?"

"The Solar."

Drop made a thoughtful croak. "Well, perhaps they haven't caught him yet."

Phyre's brow furrowed as she considered that explanation. "No, they caught the two Skytouched. They should have been the hardest to catch. They could have just flown away." That raised yet another question in her mind. Why hadn't they done that? Mr. Gilbride must have been rather sneaky in his capturing.

"If they could have flown away, how is that they're even hanging here?"

It took Phyre a little while to answer as she figured out what he was asking: how can you hang something, that is capable of flying, until it's dead?

"They use weights for the Skytouched," she explained. "Big, iron balls that the guards tie to the prisoner's legs. They make the ropes just long enough so that they can hang properly. The guards must have taken the weights back, that's why they aren't there anymore." Memories of witnessing one such hanging came flowing back into Phyre's thoughts. It had been years ago, yet it remained vivid in its foulness. Her parents had never intended to let her see such a thing. The three of them had been wandering the street behind the market at the time. So too had her voice wandered, searching out all the most tedious of things that somehow seem so interesting to a child. It was then that her voice had stumbled upon the event. The Skytouched with a rope scarf and tears spilling down his cheeks. A grim set of onlookers, a thunk of a lever and a dull snap. Then, once the significance of all that she had seen finally struck home, a scream from her lips and confusion from her parents until they finally cast their voices wide enough to find the cause. The days following had been less than pleasant.

"Just thinking of that puts me back in those striders' mouths," said Drop, his voice drawing her back to the present. With a retching croak and a shudder, he continued. "It felt like they were trying to pull me apart by my legs. Look indeed, it's practically the same. Those Skytouched have bruises around their ankles. From the ropes, right?"

Phyre cast her voice to see for herself. Sure enough, each ankle had a black and blue tint to it along with a series of lumps. She swept her focus over the rest of their bodies. Bruises and cuts on their faces too. Their capture must not have been very peaceful. She tried to look past the injuries to see what these people had looked like before. Her first chance, despite previous encounters, to study them at her leisure. The one on the right had a rather striking birthmark upon his cheek, long, relatively narrow and the same dark brown as his hair. The most pronounced feature about the left was that he had shaved very recently. Perhaps even this morning or the night before. He looked as though his appearance had been of some importance to him. Despite the injuries, they looked like normal Kelads, yet she felt no sympathy for them.

"Good," she muttered. "It's good that they're dead. They deserved this."

"What about the Solar?" asked Drop.

"He does too. I want to talk to him first, though. I want to ask why he did it, so we have to find him before the guards do."

"How?"

"I don't know." Phyre stepped forwards. There was a board in front of the gallows. It always held a message about what crime the people hanging by their necks had performed to deserve such a fate. She walked closer until she was only a few feet from the paper. It was much easier to read this way. Of course, the words were written in the common form, not the voice-legible Litides. She nearly had to pour her voice at the individual letters just to see what they were. With the speed of a forming mountain, she managed to read what the note said.

15th Veer, 744

Bear witness, folk of Fissure.

Before you hang the Skytouched brothers Biris and Firis Soof of Wind on the Plains. Hung from the neck until dead, with the aid of iron weights, for the crimes of murder, burglary and arson. Brought to justice by the Fissure Nightwatch. May they suffer forever in the screaming void beyond life.

-Patab Gilbride

Up until now, Phyre had been clinging to the hope that somehow, despite the timing of their executions, the two Skytouched had indeed been in league with the Patab. Now it seemed a distant impossibility. "No," she mumbled as her voice hung on the name. "Why else would they be at his home?"

"It must have been an honest coincidence, nothing more."

Drop's words were like an icing on her misery, more so for the fact that she could not fault them. If these men had ever had a tie with the Patab, it died with them.That left only one option. "We have to find the Solar," she said as much to herself as to the frog.

"And once you've found him and spoken to him, what then?"

Phyre bent her head to face the pocket on her chest. Drop was peering out of it with a quizzical expression. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, notwithstanding the question as to why he would desire to speak with you, what will you do with him afterwards? It strikes me that he could be rather dangerous and I don't want to see you getting yourself hurt or worse."

Phyre continued staring, not entirely sure what the frog was asking. His words were clear, but there seemed a deeper meaning behind them. "Will I kill him, you mean?"

"Yes, unless you think there's a better ending."

The concept tasted strange to her. Kill someone. She hadn't done any killing in her life save for swatting a few bothersome insects now and then. Yet, at the same time, there was something appealing in the idea. Here was a man who had caused her so much suffering, it was only right that he should be appropriately punished. And why shouldn't she be the one to do it, seeing as how she was the one to have been wronged. Just looking at the two Skytouched before her gave a faint spark of satisfaction. "I suppose so. Can you help me with that? Could that be my wish?"

Drop shook his head. "Remember? No wishing for something to die. That includes any sort of wish where I help you to make something die. Besides, you still have to find the Solar first."

"How do you think we should do that?" asked Phyre. Drop seemed in a mood for spouting wisdom and she had every intention of drinking up as much as she could.

"Well, the way I see it, if those two Skytouched were employed by the Patab, further to their own dealings, perhaps the Solar was too. Maybe some of Mr. Gilbrides other employees saw the Solar around from time to time."




Flexible Morals Ch. 04



Phyre nodded. "We could ask Niptri. All the miners work for Mr. Gilbride. Except, he won't be back until the evening."

"In that case, perhaps we should attempt a different path. I would imagine that the Solar didn't spend all of his time in Fissure at Mr. Gilbride's manor, if that was even where he stayed. Perhaps we should see if we can find where he slept at night."

"There are a few inns over on market street." Phyre pointed in that direction as if Drop would somehow be able to see.

"What's an in?"

"It's a place where you can rent a room to sleep in."

Drop croaked thoughtfully. "Doesn't sound very nice to me. So many people sleeping in the same beds. It must get rather dirty."

"I'm sure they clean it often enough." Though Phyre didn't argue about the overall niceness of the experience. She had never had to stay in one, having not travelled far enough from Fissure for there to be any need. Still, it didn't sound like such a place could ever hope to compare to the warm, cozy, comfort of home. And just like that, her throat clenched up and her stomach wracked in pain. "It's a bit early, but we could go there now," she said in an effort to distract.

===

Carved into an oval-shaped board above the entrance were the words The Cold Forge, written in common letters. It was much easier for Phyre to read due to the depth that the letters had. Her voice could easily trace each groove and discern the shape. But learning the establishment's name had never been much of a concern. It was the act of actually entering the place that troubled her. For a moment, she flashed her voice much louder than normal to peek beyond the vast, oaken double doors, together carved with a pair of crossed pickaxes. In the brief moment of vision that she acquired, she discovered the space immediately inside to be empty of people. Her nerves relaxed substantially at such a revelation. She had chosen to start with this place because it looked to be the least seedy of the selection that occupied market street. Able to stall no longer, Phyre muscled her way in.

There was a grate in the floor that Phyre guessed served as some sort of preliminary cleaning place, further to the mat beyond it, on which one would wipe one's shoes. Here, it covered a dirt and mud-filled pit into which the filth from outside was allowed to drain. Phyre could only imagine that such a setup had been made to keep any miners who might frequent the place from tracking bucket loads of grit inside the building. She passed over the hole and ground her shoes against the fibrous mat that preceded a short set of steps leading to the central room of the inn. As she had already gleamed, the place was empty. Tables, most of them with upside down chairs placed on top, were scattered around the floor. There was a big fireplace right in the center that had a gaping chimney over the top. Altogether, it looked rather like a forge that would elsewhere be used for smelting ores. Here, that was clearly not its intended purpose. With merely a passing glance, she could tell that heating such a fireplace hot enough to smelt ores would probably cause large sections of the inn to burn down, especially considering how some of the chairs were placed right next to the rim. No, this 'forge' was merely for show. Nothing like the radiating, glass furnace that had been in their old shop.

On the left side of the inn was a stairway that she could see led to a series of rooms on the second floor. At the far end was a long countertop with plenty of stools in front of it and several shelves of barrels behind. With a degree of apprehension, Phyre made her way across towards the bar, all the while sweeping her voice around. If the inn was open, someone had to be here and she wasn't about to let that someone creep up on her.

He was a very tall, burly looking man, common for an Earthborn. His race was clear immediately by the darker tone to his skin and the faint traces of green that ran through his brown hair. Presently, the man that Phyre had to guess was the innkeeper, was sampling his product in a room behind the bar. He jumped as she got closer to the counter, a half mouthful of brew spluttering from his lips as his ears perked up to listen for sounds, either her footfalls or her voice.

"Hello?" The man called. He set down his mug and moved for the adjoining door. His eyes fell upon Phyre immediately and his face flashed with surprise and curiosity. "Little early to be looking for a room, dotcha think? Little young too, I'd guess."

She chose not to hear any rudeness in those words. "I wanted to ask some questions."

The man frowned, then made a single, steady nod. He moved closer to his side of the counter, perched his hands atop it and nodded to the stool in front of him. "Have a seat then and ask away."

Despite her conflicting wishes, Phyre accepted the hospitality. "I'm looking for someone who might have stayed here."

"Right. Any clues on this someone?" the man asked with a faint hint of sarcasm.

"He's a Solar."

He nodded and gave a thoughtful rub of the gritty stubble stubble that occupied his chin and cheeks. "Well, I'll concede that you've narrowed it down. With a rough guess, I'd wager to having seen about two-hundred or so Solars in my time. Any Solar in particular that you're looking for? One with a name, perhaps?"

Growing weary of the man's less-than-subtle taunting, Phyre decided to dump the extent of her knowledge in one fell go. "I don't know his name but I know how he looks." She paused a moment to call up her memories of the Solar, speaking again just before the innkeeper could get his own words in. "His hair is about down to his shoulders and looks nice and neat. He, uh... he doesn't have a beard or a mustache or anything. I think he might have blue eyes... or green. Um, his skin looks really pale and he—"

"Okay, wait." The man held up a finger as he rubbed his eyes. "I'm gonna stop you there because what you're doing is describing just about every Solar that's ever walked through that door. I mean, blue eyes and fair skin? I suppose his hair was somewhere between white'n yellow'n he had a pair of suncrests in his palms too. You gotta help me here, something a little more distinguishing like a scar or a tattoo or a flattened down nose. Something that'd leave an impression, y'know?" Despite the harshness of his words, there was a pleading look in his eyes.

Phyre swept through her memories, encouraged by the man's expression, but there was nothing. The only view she had ever had of the Solar had been too brief and too faint to catch anything that would stick. She could scarcely even remember the larger things. She really had described the fundamental features of a Solar. It was like asking for a Vocal with no eyes or a Skytouched with a set of atohs on their back.

"Besides, hair changes. You can't rely on even the most defining of—"

"Wait," she said, taking her turn to interrupt. "He worked for Mr. Gilbride. He probably did, I mean. I'm sure he did."

The man's eyebrows rose. "Mr. Gilbride, hmm? Well, you could've mentioned that earlier. Certainly narrows things down a fair bit. And I'm guessing that you reckon he's real new in town if you're inquiring around here. So, we're after a Solar who's fresh into the Patab's employ. Probably not a guard since they have themselves a barracks to put up in. Not a Fissure guard, at least. Might be one'a Gilbride's private troupe."

"He might be a miner," Phyre suggested, spurred on by this sudden boon of progress.

The man stared off into space as he considered that possibility. "Mmm, no if he's got his hair as long as you say he probably doesn't work in the mines. I hear hair like that gets in the way and causes accidents and catches dirt like the mudtrap I got by the door."

"Maybe he ties it back when he goes underground."

"Yeah maybe. Although, that sounds as if it'd make the helmets a bit uncomfortable. Nah I figure he probably works on Gilbride's estate. The man's got a good deal of room for his servants too so it could be that he's staying there. Might be you're asking in the wrong place."

Phyre took a moment to consider that possibility. It didn't work. If the Solar had been staying in Mr. Gilbride's manor, he would surely have been caught along with the Skytouched. She was about to open her mouth and explain that line of reasoning when it occurred to her that doing so might not be so wise. Better not to let others know exactly who she was searching for and why. Such would only attract more questions than she could answer. "No, he definitely wasn't staying at the manor."

"Oh yeah? Whydjoo figure that?"

Phyre tore through her mind in a frantic, panicked search for something that would reason the innkeeper's question away. "Because he... because he's so new here. Would Mr. Gilbride would let someone stay in his house only a few days, at the most, after meeting him? Even if he is working there."

The innkeeper scratched his stubble some more. "Yeah, I suppose so. Those rich types get so protective of their stuff. Not that I can blame em. Big house like that, it's a wonder that everyone in it isn't nicking off with whatever's not tied down. Why do ya think he's so new in town, by the way? Seeing how you can't seem to give much of a physical description."

"Well, that's why. I only saw him once and never before that. Never around Fissure either."

"Right. So, a Solar who's only been in Fissure for a couple days. Works for the Patab and might be staying here?"

"Yes."

"Mhmm." More scratching of his chin. The sound it produced sounded a bit like sand being rubbed along a piece of wood. "Sorry, can't think of anyone like that. Trouble is, that Patab bit narrows it down to zero. I figure you'd probably have more luck over at Steelsmith's Landing up the street, seeing how it's closer to Gilbride's place."

"You're sure? Maybe he just came in here to eat but was staying somewhere else." It was a silly suggestion but Phyre didn't relish the possibility of having to go through this entire process again at another inn on market street, especially since they all looked to go downhill from here.

"Nah, that'd be odd to stay at one inn and eat at another, don'cha think?"

"Right." With some degree of reluctance, Phyre slid off her barstool and started her journey back through the inn. "Thanks anyway," she mumbled.

"Sorry I couldn't help, miss. Not a lot of the Patab's men come round here. We had a Vocal in this week that may've been working there, from what the other patrons let slip, but that's it."

Phyre froze and turned around, her brow furrowing. "A Vocal?" she asked. She hadn't seen any at Mr. Gilbride's manor.

"Yeah... Except..." This time it was the innkeepers brow that did the furrowing. He cupped a hand over his mouth and thought for a little while. "Except, come to think of it, I don't remember what his occumark was. He had a real dark cloak, almost black, and the hood was pulled pretty far down, couldn't see his face too well. Wasn't as far down as some of the other Vocals round here, though."

"That's him!" Phyre cried. The Solar outside her house, he had been wearing a dark cloak.

"You sure? He certainly seemed secretive enough to be a Vocal. Uh, no offense meant."

"Maybe you can't remember his occumark because he didn't have one." Phyre hurried back to the bar stool and repositioned herself atop it.

"Mhmm, I guess that could be it. The light in here's not great, I just figured it wasn't standing out too well against the black of his cloak."

"It's definitely him. Which room is he staying in?"

The innkeeper shrugged. "'Fraid you've missed him by a bit. He packed up and left, uh..." He began counting out days on his fingers backwards. "Yeah, four, maybe five, days ago."

Phyre counted back too. That put the date right around the time that her house had been burned down. With a sliver of dread, she started seeing the story. The Solar had come into Fissure, done his job then left without a word. Gone to the wind and Dawn knows where else. Please don't let it be that, she begged. "Did he leave anything behind like something that might say where he was going or where he had come from."

"Not that I recall. The room he stayed in's all cleaned out." Then the innkeeper's eyes slid into a squint. "Why are you looking for this man anyway?"

"Because, uh... I think he stole something from my family."

"Right, shouldn't you take that up with the guards, then?"

"But lots of the guards work for the Patab, and if this Solar works for the Patab too then they might not go after him."

The innkeeper rubbed his chin and nodded. "I suppose that could be a concern. But like I said, your man's probably gone by now, long on the road to some other place if he isn't living up at Gilbride's manor. I know what you said, but I reckon that you're best bet is up on that hill. Otherwise you're gonna have quite a task catching up with this guy."

"I know," she mumbled. So that was it, the Solar was gone. "Thanks again, I guess." For the second time, Phyre slid down from the bar stool and began her journey towards the inn's door. It seemed a longer distance than before.

"Good luck trying to find him, miss." There were no further clues from the innkeeper this time. He quickly moved back into the room behind the bar where he had earlier been sampling his ales.

Out on market street, Phyre made a left from the inn and walked along the structure until she came to an alleyway beside it. She entered, her feet squelching on the muddied ground that resulted from far poorer roadwork. Weeds were springing up in this free space, to feed on several piles of decaying refuse that folk had discarded here. The air tasted damp, earthy and rotten. She had only come in here to seek a private place for speaking with Drop. As if sensing this, the frog was already clambering to the lip of his pocket. She looked down at him and asked, "What should we do now?"

Drop's eyes were grim and his throat was pulsing with thought. "As much as it pains me to say it, girly, I think the innkeeper was right. It sounds as if the Solar is long gone."

"But there has to be some way to find out where he went."

"Well, granted, this would be an absolute last resort, but you could always wish for something like that."

Phyre wrung her hands. The thought of spending her one wish on something so seemingly trivial as finding out where the Solar had gone didn't appeal. Yet that very idea was now firmly lodged in her head. She tried to shake it free. There had to be a better way. "No, not yet."

"Of course, of course. As I said, only a last resort. My other idea, which I know will be, perhaps, just as unpleasant, is to go ask Mr. Gilbride. Maybe he knows something about where—"

"No, we're not going there either." Phyre thrust a finger towards the frog. She had absolutely no intention of going anywhere near Gilbride's manor, especially without Hatra to provide some degree of escort. There was no guarantee that the space within those walls was safe. "We'll go ask Hatra's husband and some of the other miners and maybe we'll visit the other inns but we're not seeing the Patab again."

"That will take days. Who knows how far away the Solar will be by then. Even if you manage to learn something, too much time will have passed for it to still be reliable."

"I don't care, we're not going back to Gilbride's manor."

For several moments, Phyre held her voice on Drop as he held his eyes on her. His gaze was tense, stoic and unrelenting. "I know you're afraid of venturing in there," he said at last.

"It's not that."

"There's nothing wrong with being afraid. I used to be afraid of loads of things. I still am, just not so much."

"I'm not afraid."

"You are, I can see it. But it's okay. Lots of people are afraid of things. You just have to be brave and that's acting despite being afraid."

"I told you, I'm not—" But as Phyre raised her voice, and her field of view along with it, she noticed something that stole her attention. Perhaps a dozen meters deeper into the alleyway sat a shape. A black and white shape. A cat.

"Hmm? What is it?" Drop asked when she didn't continue.

Phyre barely heard him, the entirety of her focus now devoted to the cat. There was something hauntingly peculiar about it. For a start, it sat rigidly still and simply stared at her. Constantly. Unwavering.

For the most part, it looked no different to an ordinary cat. Almost entirely clad in black fur except for a patch upon its face and the tip of its tail that presently lay wrapped around its legs. The white on its face turned to darkness again on the cat's nose and around its mouth and eyes.

Its eyes. There the normality ceased. Phyre's voice felt as though it swirled towards those blackened pools that were absent of even the slightest bit of color. Nothing but nightshade. A ceaseless void that stayed locked upon her occumarks.

"Phyre!? What's wrong?" Drop shouted and she realized that he had shouted several times already.

"There," she said simply as she pointed to the feline.

Drop hauled himself a little further up her pocket and twisted around, at last able to tell where her attention had gone now that it had been pointed out. He peered down the alleyway and immediately uttered a sharp croak. "Gah, not him."

"Who?" Phyre asked without her voice leaving the cat's eyes.

"The forest monster."

It took Phyre a second to recall the story. "But you said you'd made that up."

"It didn't sound like you were going to believe me either way," Drop hissed as his gaze maintained on the cat.

Phyre wondered for a moment if the furry creature might somehow be able to understand that they were talking about it. Any other cat and she wouldn't have thought such a thing, but this one seemed significantly more aware. "What's he want?" she asked herself as much as Drop.

"I don't know, maybe he— oh.."

As though reacting to Phyre's question, the cat stood up, curled around and began padding his way down the alley. Not even a whisper of sound followed his steps. His tail stood tall but crooked over sharply where the fur turned from black to white.

"Does he want me to follow?" Phyre asked, though she somehow knew the answer before Drop even said it.

"I think so."

She nodded. The cat had almost reached a turn in the alleyway and he looked intent on taking it.

Phyre stepped forwards and began to follow. Meanwhile, her senses told her to do the opposite. She suddenly recalled that famous saying, curiosity killed the cat. Did a similar saying exist for when a cat killed the curious?

"Are you sure it's safe?" Phyre asked as the cat curled around a bend in the alley. She maintained a good distance from it.

"Relatively sure. I managed to escape him, after all."

Echoing around the corner, Phyre's voice slowly lost sight of the cat. She tried to keep him in view but it was almost as if he just slipped away. She sent her voice out stronger, casting over rooftops, and found the feline much further ahead that she had expected him to be, though his pace hadn't changed.

"He's not as big as you made him out to be," Phyre remarked. She stepped around the first bend just as the cat made another turn up ahead. With her voice she could see that he would be emerging onto a street shortly. What might people think of him?

"Well that's easy for you to say, what with all your towering above things. I'm a whole world smaller than he is, aren't I," Drop finished with a deep ribbitt.

"I suppose so."

They were silent for several seconds before Drop made a slow croak. "I left some parts out of my story. You remember it, don't you?"

"Mhmm, what parts?"

Again the cat had managed to somehow slip from sight and again Phyre relocated it as she turned onto the final stretch of alleyway. She could see him padding purposefully along the rooftop to her right. How did he...? Phyre wondered briefly.




Flexible Morals Ch. 04



"Well, after I had done my cowering from the monster, I noticed that he hadn't yet tried to eat me. So I looked up and there he was, watching me just like he did with you a minute ago. Then he— he... oh goodness..." A troubled croak spilled from Drop's lips.

"What?" Phyre asked, her voice shifting briefly from the cat, as she walked the street alongside its perch, to the frog.

"He told me the way back to the river and he said that I should wait there until something happened. I think he planned for us to meet. He found someone for me to give my wish to. He wants to help you, I think."

"But you made him out to be all menacing before." Although Phyre hadn't yet decided to label the cat as warm and friendly, he certainly didn't seem as diabolical as Drop had implied.

"Well I hadn't realized the significance of everything he'd done until now. I'd been waiting at that spot in the river for nearly three days, you see, unsure as to whether it had all been some sort of trick. I'd been just about ready to shuffle along when those birds showed up."

Phyre considered the frog for a moment. She was briefly aware of several Fissurites watching as she strode briskly down the street. None appeared to have noticed the cat traversing the rooftops.

"I don't know if I trust him," said Phyre as her voice returned to the feline.

"Well I shouldn't think so. He's not even made his case yet. Let's at least hear the fellow out before we decide anything, mm?"

"Alright... But I hope he isn't planning to lead us much further."

At the end of the street, Phyre spotted the cat waiting for her. It stared right at her occumarks with those obsidian eyes, blinked once, then curled around and began padding towards the forest. There was nobody present but herself and Drop to see the cat pass. 



Flexible Morals Ch. 05



This was easily the finest room that Malik had ever been in and for this reason he was suspicious. Ordinarily, a man in his line of work wouldn't expect to do business in such a well-furnished space. He could feel his boots sinking into the carpet beneath him. It held an unnatural softness, yet there was no place else to stand. The desk, behind which his would-be employer sat, held a similar flair to its design. The corners were carved in a way similar to the figureheads that one might see on a ship. Atop the desk's surface, apart from the usual array of parchment and quills, were all manner of trinkets that served little purpose other than to look pretty and interesting. Such was the way of nobility. Even the walls looked rich, built from a dark, almost red, wood and treated so that they almost shone in the light. Just standing in the room felt as if it was somehow costing someone a fortune, but work was work so he would endure.

"These are they?" asked the man behind the desk, apparently the Patab of this town.

It was his butler who responded. His voice sounded as flamboyant as the room in which they were standing. "The first three to respond to your request, master."

"I wouldn't call it much of a request," said the Skytouched who stood immediately to Malik's right. "'Hardened folk of flexible morals needed in Fissure,' not a lot to go on. What's more—"

A shove from the second Skytouched cut the first off and he took over the speaking. "What my brother is trying to say is that we'll need more of a story before anything is finalized. I'm sure you, as a man of obvious status, understand."

The Patab gave a slow, steady nod, one hand to his chin. With his other hand he made a wave towards the butler who bowed, turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Then the Patab returned his attention to the trio before him. "Indeed, we'll get to the details in a moment. First, let me make it clear that regardless of what you decide, the words that are said in this room are not to leave it. Simply for your silence, should you decide against my employment, I am willing to pay well."

"So, wait..." The first Skytouched held up a hand. "You'd let us go now if we wanted and there'd be some coin in it just for showing up?" He asked despite several shoves from his brother.

"I would should you desire to. But do keep in mind that the prize for success here is far greater than what you would walk away with now. Not to mention, the chance for further, well-paying work down the track, should you prove yourselves up to the call. So, before I explain the job, would any among you like to take your leave?" He swept his eyes over the trio.

Malik snuck a glance at his would-be accomplices but couldn't read anything in their faces. He looked back at the Patab. "None of us is going anywhere."

"So I see. In that case, allow me to begin. 

===

Already Phyre was a little concerned with this new plan. They'd been following the cat for nearly half an hour, at least. Trudging through thicker and thicker parts of the woods as they gradually moved away from Fissure. That worried her.

Ordinarily, darkness wasn't much of a problem for Phyre. When it came to walking around the woods, while nightfall neared, at the behest of some mysterious feline, darkness became a little more intimidating. Lots of things came out after sundown that one should try one's hardest to avoid. Wolves and bears sometimes and vicious, needle-haired pargs with their backs full of venomous quills. None of them would be particularly nice to run into. Yet here they were, traipsing through the woods at the prime time of day to encounter one or all of them. 

"I should mention, as an afterthought, that I also felt a lot braver after my meeting with the cat," Drop said suddenly.

Phyre frowned. "How?"

"Well you see... uh. How..." A long, thoughtful and throaty croak worked its way from Drops lips. "Ah, perhaps the cat bestowed some courage upon me for being able to stand his presence for so long. All I remember is that I initially felt terrified and after a little while things didn't seem quite so scary. Especially now that I think back to it. I can scarcely remember what it was about him that had frightened me."

"Maybe that's just because you got used to him," she argued. "You seemed pretty scared of those strider birds."

"That was a life and death situation."

"And when you were coming to Fissure for the first time."

"Life and death again."

"No it wasn't!"

"Pah, that's easy for you to say, big as you are."

"Ugh, how much further can it be?" Phyre groaned into a new subject.

"Surely not much farther. We're almost at the swamp, aren't we?"

"Swamp? But..."

Drop was right, Phyre realized. The ground had been growing increasingly soft and thick with water. But there weren't any swamps in the woods, she was sure of it.

"Has he told you his name yet, by the way?"

"Mmm? No, why?" Phyre's voice found the cat again a short distance ahead. As he walked, his tail still stood crooked where the fur turned white.

"Oh, just wondering is all."

Phyre looked at him. "Why? Has he told you?"

"When I met him before, yes. But I don't know if I should go telling you. Maybe best to let him introduce himself properly."

"Okay..." As a way of dragging herself forward, Phyre kept her voice on the cat. She ground to a halt this time as she found nothing but empty forest where he should have been.

A trickle of fear began to flow through Phyre. At once she swept her voice through the patch of forest that she had stopped in. The one for whom she searched did not appear.

"Where did he go?"

A shuffling sensation tickled Phyre's skin as the frog hauled himself to the lip of her pocket. Drop squinted into the gloom then pointed ahead with a slimy foot. "Just there."

Phyre's voice returned to the spot she had first searched. This time their furry companion presented himself. He padded towards them, eyes locked upon her, then sat only a few meters away and curled his tail around his legs.

Silence hung over the trio for a short while. Phyre kept expecting the cat to speak. After all, she already knew a frog who could do the same. But in the minute that passed, the cat did nothing more than blink once and shuffle his hindlegs a little closer.

"Hello," Phyre tried when she could stand the tension no longer.

The cat nodded to her greeting. His head dipped slowly then rose again a single time. Yet, throughout the action, his eyes failed to leave her.

"Has it told you its name?" Drop whispered.

Phyre jumped upon hearing his voice and was about to shake her head. Then she realized that she did know its name. "The Wandering Cat. That's his name, isn't it."

"Yes."

"How do I know that?"

"He told you."

Phyre's focus returned to the cat and found it still seated there, watching. "Are you going to help me, Wandering Cat?" she asked it.

Nod. Then the cat twisted around and padded away into the darkness. She watched him leave, confused, and tried to chase him with her voice. For a while, she managed to keep him in view. Then, as he seemed to do so often, he slipped away.

"Where's he going?" Phyre asked herself as much as the frog.

"I'm not sure."

"Did I make him angry?"

"No. Surely not. I don't know if he can even get angry. At any rate, if he is angry, I'm sure he would have made that fact quite clear to you."

"Why is he even here? What's he doing?"

Drop croaked loudly. "Well, who's to say he is here. He's gone now, anyway. It's all in the name. He wanders, I suppose."

"Right."

"And look, here he comes again."

As before, Drop was correct. Phyre could see the blurry outline of the cat as it began to emerge from wherever it had retreated. It had something in its mouth this time. A tiny, glass vial filled with a red liquid. Her immediate guess was blood but she soon realized that the color was far too bright for it to be that. The cat stopped to sit where it had before, dropped the vial on the ground and, with a flick of its paw, rolled it towards Phyre. She made sure to keep her voice on the creature as she stooped down to retrieve its gift. 

"What is this?" she asked. In the palm of her hand, the vial seemed even tinier. Delicate as crystal and about half the size of her thumb, with a cork stopper. Her voice moved between the cat and the vial and, when she looked back, the answer came. His gift. In her mind, she could see herself lifting the vial to her mouth and drinking down every drop of the red liquid. Then nothing. Dream Phyre licked her lips and the vision faded.

"But what does it do?" she tried, with the suspicion that the cat was going to be similarly unclear. 

The cat offered no clues this time. He only sat there and did nothing. Then Phyre realized that, in his own way, he actually had told her.

"It can't do nothing..." Phyre looked at Drop for guidance.

"I don't know," he replied with a shrug. "He never gave me anything."

"So should I drink it?"

"I think he wants you to, so you should."

Phyre turned the vial in her hand and watched the liquid as it rolled around within. It was almost disgustingly thick but, at the same time, smooth and supple. "But what if it's bad for me. What's it do? It can't do nothing," she said again.

"Maybe he... Oh, maybe he means the opposite. Maybe it does anything or everything. Something like that." Drop made a throaty chirp at his reasoning then looked to the cat for confirmation.

Nod.

"See, there you go." The frog twisted around in Phyre's pocket and smiled at her.

Phyre didn't smile back. That explanation didn't strike her as particularly satisfactory. For one thing, it still left a lot unanswered. Which was it, anything or everything? And what did that even mean? "So if I drink this," Phyre began as she held out the vial. "If I drink this and I want to fly, it will do that?"

The cat shook his head in three short movements. Left, right, back to center.

"But what if I want to fly."

Another head shake.

"No? But..." And then understanding dawned on Phyre. Perhaps the cat had helped her reach this enlightenment, she didn't know. Phyre only realized that neither the cat, nor the vial, could be fooled. She could drink his gift and want to fly but she wouldn't because her true desire did not lie there.

"It does what I want it to do. What I really want it to do."

Nod.

That still didn't help very much, Phyre decided. For a start, what would the cat think she really wanted the gift to do?

"I suppose it's a way of bringing about your deepest, most secret desire," Drop chimed in. "That's a bit like what he did for me, don't you think? Sending me off to a seemingly insignificant patch of river for a few days so that I could find someone to claim my wish."

"A bit," Phyre agreed.

"So, do you think you'll drink it now?"

Again Phyre looked at the tiny vial in her hand. Its blood-red contents almost looked as though they swirled even when still. She wrapped her fingers around the cork stopper and tensed to pull it free but paused to address her furry benefactor.

"I'll be cross with you, cat, if this turns out to be bad."

Nod.

The cork slid free without a sound. Phyre held up the vial as both animals stared at her. Again every bit of her mind began to question the wisdom of drinking a mysterious liquid given to her by a mysterious cat in a mysterious stretch of forest. Yet it occurred to her that, if the cat really meant to hurt her, it likely could have done so with far less trouble than hoping for her to drink poison.

Phyre lifted the vial to her nose for a smell. A scent far sweeter than she had expected graced the air. An enticing, fruity aroma that reminded her of the ends of spring when all the forest's bounty is out in its fullest. That time wasn't too long off. Phyre tipped the vial back and felt the first drops of the liquid hit her tongue. She nearly recoiled at the sweetness. The liquid sizzled silently but it didn't burn and slid easily down her throat. Her stomach accepted the offering. No part of her body screamed at the arrival or warned her of poison. Once the final drop fell from its glass shell, Phyre licked her lips and looked at the frog.

"How was it?" he asked.

She frowned and gathered her thoughts. "Very sweet and a bit creamy. Like honey and milk mixed together but much smoother and with a different taste."

"Sounds alright to me," he ribitted.

"But I don't feel any different." Her voice searched for the Wandering Cat, but he was gone. The patch of woodland stood empty of life save Phyre and Drop. "Where'd he go?" she asked.

"I suppose he... wandered somewhere else."

"But what did that do?" Phyre asked herself as much as her companion.

"I haven't a clue. You're sure you don't feel anything?"

"Uhuh." With a sigh she recorked the vial and stowed it in a pocket in her trousers. "He's an odd creature."

"Not as odd as he is scary, I should think."

"I guess so. Should we go back now?"

"Mmm, yes. I'm getting rather peckish after all this walking."

"You haven't been walking," Phyre hissed at him as she turned around to do the walking for the both of them.

"No, but I've been bouncing around in this pocket which was exhausting enough. Not to mention all the fearful shivering that this trip has put me through," Drop finished with a weary croak.

"He's not that scary."

"That's just because you're an awful lot bigger than he is. For me, when I first met him, it was quite the other way around with him doing all the towering over things. Why, if you were my height when you met him, you'd be in a completely different state of mind."

"Maybe," Phyre said, then laughed when her response brought a scoff from the frog.

"Well, if you think yourself so brave now, I should say it's high time that we pay Mr. Gilbride another visit."

"Ah, we should," Phyre blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Right— hang on, why're you suddenly willing to..." Drop croaked triumphantly. "Aha! That must be what his gift did. It's made you braver."

"Wha— No!" Phyre shot back. "My deepest desire wasn't to be brave."

"Maybe it was so deep that you didn't even realize."

"No," she said again. That couldn't be it. It seemed like such a waste. Of course it couldn't be, not when she desired so desperately to have her parents back.

"No? Then why the change?"

"Because... the two Skytouched are dead now. And the Solar is probably gone so there's nobody dangerous left at his manor," Phyre reasoned. She left out the part with her newfound understanding that Mr. Gilbride was only a man. A Skytouched. Tonight had taught Phyre that there were far less quiescent beings lurking in the world. Wandering in the dark.

"Tomorrow we'll go find out if he really was involved or not."

===

"Fraid the story's the same as last time, kid, the Patab doesn't see just anyone off the street."

"But I'm not just anyone," Phyre pleaded with the guard on the left. It was the same pair as when last she had been here. Once again, Phyre found herself standing outside the gate to Mr. Gilbride's estate and, once again, her entry was being denied. "We had that important message last time."

"That was then, this is now. Unless you've got something new, I suggest you hit the road." The Skytouched made a show of peering around. "No sign of your big friend so I'll wager you've nothing to report. Now beat it."

Phyre huffed. This had gone so much smoother in her head. The plans she had made in bed last night were so fresh that they felt to have happened only moments ago. Last night had crept by far slower than nights usually did. After dinner with the Lanises, a shepherd's pie, Phyre had plotted out the way in which she would approach her goal tomorrow. The mysterious liquid that she had drunk still hadn't manifested itself in any remarkable way so there were no clues to be had there. Her mouth felt a little dry but that was likely just the inordinate amount of salt that Hatra had put into the pie, nothing sinister.

With great reluctance, Phyre complied with the guard's words, mostly spurned back by the cruel look that he was giving her. She wanted to shy away from it and hide beneath the hood that wasn't there. The two Skytouched maintained their glares as she retreated downhill until she rounded a bend and broke their line of sight. Hidden at last, Phyre looked down at Drop. "What should we do now?" she asked.

"Seems to me that we may again have need of Hatra's finesse."

Phyre considered that suggestion. They had left Mrs. Lanis in her morning storm of baking that was followed with a trip to Market Street to sell what she had made. The house had been filled with the clatter and cursing of a woman hard at work. "No, she's too busy."

"Then we appear to be at a bit of a blockade, quite literally. Do you suppose there's another way in? Back at the academy, I remember there being the main entrance plus a whole mess of other ways in for where they deliver food and where the staff came and went. Perhaps we could seek out one of those?"

"But those will be guarded too. Look, they're all over the walls." Phyre pointed through the hill at several men who were staring out over Fissure from their vista. "Besides, we don't want to sneak in or they might arrest us."

"No, that would be a bit detrimental to our objectives, wouldn't it." Drop started making a series of thoughtful, chirping ribetts as he worked through ideas. "I say, does this fellow ever leave his home? He had a few carriages, didn't he? Must leave the place at some point. Maybe we could catch him then?"

"But where does he go? And when?"

"I imagine our friends back up at the gate should know."

"Right." Phyre sent her voice in that direction and found them leaning against the wall that they were supposed to be guarding. She could hardly blame their laziness, it looked like a terribly boring job. Perhaps her return would add a bit of flavor, Phyre thought as she began walking up the hill again. As she rounded the bend and came into their view, a smile crossed her lips. The guard on the left spotted her and his shoulders sank. He nudged his partner and they came to attention.

"You seem to have a bit of a problem with listening, missy," said the left.

"Does Mr. Gilbride ever leave this place?" Phyre asked, deciding to get straight to the point.

Left glared at her, then spoke through gritted teeth. "The Patab has his own schedule that will sometimes see him leaving his home."

"When?"

"That is private information. We don't go handing out the Patab's schedule to anyone who comes round asking, so get lost and try to stay that way this time."

"Mr. Quito, is that any way to speak to a young lady?"

Phyre threw her voice to the top of the wall, from which the speaker's voice had come, and saw a man standing there, peering down at the proceedings. He was dressed in a fine blue tunic with long sleeves and a gold trim around the neck and cuffs. His face was clean shaven and soft, suggesting that this was a man who didn't often find himself dirty. The two guards had turned a bit pale upon hearing his voice and were now staring up at him.

"My regrets, sir. We're just trying to deal with this street urchin," said the left whose name seemed to be Quito.

"I'm no street urchin," Phyre protested.

"It appears that she disagrees with your judgement, Mr. Quito." The Patab ran his eyes over her as one would examine a piece of furniture in a store, sniffing out the correct value. "Tell me, what does she want?"

"To meet with you, sir. I've been trying to explain that you haven't the time but she—"

"Nonsense, I've plenty of time this morning."




Flexible Morals Ch. 05



"But sir, isn't the Iron Moon tonight?"

"And the preparations are being seen to. Besides, it's still far too early for things to really get underway. Or do you think yourself a better hand at festival planning? Perhaps you should consider retiring from the Fissure guard and entering into the field of parties, hmm?" Gilbride raised an eyebrow in anticipation of the guard's response.

"Uh, no sir." Quito came to attention, more out of panic than for any useful reason, judging by his flustered expression and the way his atohs were standing on end. 

"Good. Now miss." Gilbride's focus shifted to Phyre. "Would you care to come join me so that you may speak whatever was on your mind."

A moment of apprehension flashed through Phyre as she stared at the path ahead of her. This man had made her fearful when last she had had the chance of meeting him. Yet here he stood before her, flesh and blood and only that. Only a man and nothing more, remember. "Yes," she said. "I'll come up."

"Glad to hear it." He smiled and waved a hand in the air. Almost immediately, the steel hinges of the gate began to groan as the two, massive doors swung open.

Phyre stepped forwards, but not before shooting a grin to the two guards who had denied her entrance. A stableboy pointed for her to head left along the wall where a stairway was waiting to take her up. Mr. Gilbride stood at the top, his arms braced against both sides, with that same smile upon his face. "What a beautiful visage you possess, my dear. There are far too few Vocals who are brave enough to go unhooded. Such a shame."

She struggled to keep from blushing under his words but, after a moment of thought, decided against it. He was showing such hospitality, let him. It would distract him from her true reason for coming here and, perhaps, make him more talkative on the subject of his employing the Solar. So Phyre took Mr. Gilbride's hand when it was offered and allowed herself to be led to a spot above the gate where the wall widened and a set of chairs had been placed, along with a tall, narrow table. Phyre swept her voice across the wall's top and marveled at how it seemed to have changed along with her new vantage point. The floor here was made from thick, coarse wooden planks that contrasted sharply, not unpleasantly, with the stone. Patches of moss and lichen were taking up residence wherever they pleased and Phyre was glad for their presence as it lent some much-needed color to the gray.

"So, why don't you start with your name," said Mr. Gilbride as he sank onto one of the chairs.

"I'm Phyre," she said and did the same with the other.

"Mhmm... You were here the day before, were you not. With that woman, Hesta."

"Hatra."

"Hatra," he tasted the name and seemed to find it satisfactory. "About the murders. Did you see? The guards have caught two of them."

"I saw, but there were three men, not two." Phyre cast her voice across his face, thoroughly scoping out his reaction to those words.

The Patab closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in thought. "Yes," he heaved. "Hatra told your story well. The Solar is still at large. He always struck me as the smartest of the trio. He hadn't been around my estate for several days prior so I would wager that he fled shortly after his crime was committed."

"What do you mean that he was the smartest?" Phyre asked. "You knew him that well?"

"Of course. I'd hired them all on as footmen, though it would appear that their motives were ulterior. I feel guilty, of course, for not having checked their backgrounds more closely. Who knows what they had been up to in other towns prior to coming here. If only I had thought to ask, perhaps this could have all been avoided."

It sounded as if Gilbride wanted her to refute the blame that he was placing upon himself. She didn't. As far as Phyre was concerned, the man was right. His actions had indirectly led to her parents' deaths. It didn't put their blood on his hands, though it didn't mean he was innocent either. The silence was building so Phyre filled it by saying, "at least two of them have been caught. You are looking for the Solar, aren't you?"

"Of course. Malik is his name, by the way. The Fissure guard have sent scouts to all the neighboring towns with his description. All that is left to do is wait until word comes back."

"Do you think that they'll find him?"

He shrugged. "I trust in the abilities of the Empire's sun guard." His voice fell. "But they are only men and women, not gods like Empress Dawn is. We cannot expect miracles of them... That face, my girl, I'm sorry. I don't say these things to dishearten you, I say them for they are important to say. You see—" Gilbride cleared his throat and paused a moment to collect his words. "You see, I think that it is very important for people to be realistic about things. Would you disagree?"

Phyre brushed her cheeks as she considered the idea. Not entirely sure where he was going, she simply responded with, "I don't know."

"That's quite alright, we needn't form opinions on everything in life, large or small. Allow me to explain: I do not think it fruitful to tie oneself around fantasies when reality proves itself a perfectly sufficient vice. Now I am not saying that you should abandon your quest for justice, for it is clear to me that you are on one. What I am trying to say is that it would be tragic for such a pretty, budding life to become consumed by a single purpose, especially when such a purpose has flown from your control. Do you understand?"

Gilbride looked at her then, and she met his gaze. It almost sounded as if he was telling her to give up. She tried to look past that negativity in search of the true meaning. Yes, the Solar was now out of her reach. That was what the Patab meant. Her pursuit had gone beyond the point where it became too difficult to maintain, at least for her. Now, as Gilbride seemed to be suggesting, it was time to let things take their course in the hands of the sun guard. "I think I see what you mean," Phyre said at last, though she didn't necessarily agree with the idea. It counted as giving up. Her parents wouldn't want that, would they?

"That is good, though I notice that you haven't said whether you will heed my words. Not that I blame you. I know what you must be feeling. Death has brought bitterness and an open knot that you seek to tie. And it should be you to tie it, not somebody else. Not somebody who cannot possibly understand the entire story. Is this how you feel?"

"Yes," Phyre blurted out almost too quickly. It was uncanny how well his words were honing on her thoughts, on things that she had never managed to put into a sentence. "How do you know?"

"Do you recall my wife, Edith? It was some years ago now. Perhaps you were too young or too far from that circle of Fissure, it matters not. I felt the same as you do when she was taken from me, though there were no murderous thugs at play. A disease of the blood is what claimed my beloved, or so her physician claimed to me. All I know is that she wilted like a flower right before my eyes. Her face sank, her skin sagged, her muscles withered and melted away. Such a crime for her ethereal beauty to be destroyed like that. Every moment I saw her fade caused my heart to ache so much that I feared, perhaps hoped, that I too would die. And when she did and I did not, I fell into a pit of despair blacker than the deepest trenches of the mine. " Gilbride fell silent then, his eyes shut and his body threatening to contort around one of the arms of his chair. Just as she felt the need to say something, he continued with a groan. "What I am trying to tell you, Phyre, is that you must not let this happen to you. Yes, the pain will become unbearable at times but it only comes in waves. You must endeavor to live your life between it. I do this because I know that it is what my Edith would have wanted."

Phyre sat still and breathed the midday air. It had dried quickly after the morning fog and no longer tasted moist. She missed that flavor. All other times of the day tasted dry and boring. "My parents would want it too," she said.

"I'm sure they would. Our loved ones only ever want the best for us. The hard part is accepting this, funny as it sounds."

"Why did you want to talk to me?" Phyre asked. Thus far, much of the conversation had been useful, though rather trivial. What was his motive for this?

"Just to see how you were getting on. I did suspect already that you were the girl whom Hatra was with the night before. So how are you managing. Do you have a place to stay?"

"I'm living with Mrs. Lanis."

"Of course, that's very kind of her. And what about the future, do you know what you will be doing?"

Phyre considered the question. She suspected that he wanted to know how she intended to make a living now. For now, there was Hatra. That couldn't last forever. It would be uncivil to leech off them for too much longer, especially considering how much they had already done. "My father taught me a bit about glass working. I could do that."

"Good," Gilbride's reply faded away into the addling spring warmth. "Good, something to keep yourself busy. An idle mind is a dangerous thing in a time of mourning. I wish you the best with that venture. In the meantime, I have a proposal for you."

"Ah?" Phyre queried.

"More of an invitation, really. Consider this a welcome for you to attend my Iron Moon party here. There will be music and good food and entertainment. I think such a thing would do you well." He turned to look at her and flashed a warm smile.

The offer came as somewhat of a shock to Phyre. Everyone who had never been had heard tales of how grand the Patab's yearly Iron Moon celebration was. The street party had always been exciting enough but one had to wonder what sort of celebration was taking place behind the walls of Mr. Gilbride's estate. "I'd love to come."

"Glad to hear it. Any sort of diversion does a griever good. Now remember, this is a formal occasion so dress well and ready yourself for an evening unmatched."

"Can I bring the Lanises?"

"Indeed, if you wish. Now you'd best run along and get ready. For me, I must return to overseeing the preparations. Sad that our diversion must be cut short." Gilbride stood and stretched his arms then turned to Phyre and gave a short bow. "Allow me to escort you to the gate."

Phyre curtsied as best she could and allowed him to lead the way back along the wall.



Flexible Morals Ch. 06



"I mean, when you think about it, the whole thing don't make sense." 

"You don't make any sense, Biris," retorted Firis. 

Trailing behind the two brothers, Malik could only roll his eyes. They had been like this for the entire journey, never tiring of their back and forth. Occasionally the endless quarreling came to blows but it was never anything severe, unfortunately. Just the semi-good-natured jostling of siblings. He couldn't understand it. Maybe the men had been dropped on their heads as children. Maybe it was merely typical Skytouched behaviour. Either way, it was starting to wear thin. He'd only met them yesterday yet it felt like a lifetime ago. Regardless, Malik didn't speak up. Drawing their attention only seemed to encourage them. 

"No, listen. You listening?" Biris gave his brother a nudge to be sure. 

Firis gave a harder shove back and a snarled, "Yeah, yeah, I'm listening. Let's hear again why you're not content to do a job, get paid and not go thinking more than you should about it." 

"I'm just saying, there's something funny going on. This Vocal's bringing in some pretty good coin with his glassware. Sounds like a reason to keep him around, you know? But here we're tasked to bump him off? Nah, it don't make sense, none of it does." 

"Maybe it doesn't need to make sense. Did you think about that?" 

Biris trudged along the forest road, sprinkled with little green shoots that were trying to claim the land as their own. The visibility was poor here. Dense forest sprang up quite quickly off the road and the landscape saw them winding back and forth around inclines too sharp for a wagon. It invoked a desire in Malik to get out of the open, but they would be fine. The banditry in these parts wouldn't dare drift so close to town. Not this deep in the Empire's heartlands. 

"Nah," Biris shook his head. "That don't make sense neither. When there's money involved, nobody does nothing for no good reason. I reckon this might be some sorta setup. Maybe he's—" 

"Why don't you quite your yapping!" Firis suddenly butted in as he whirled on his brother. "The man was clear, bump this family off and don't ask questions. Now so far, we haven't done either of those things. Maybe this is a setup, in which case we'll do as we always do, wing it. And if it isn't then the man made it clear that there'd be the chance of more work should we take care of this job well enough. So shut that gaping trap of yours and focus on the job!" The four, black, razor-sharp atoh blades on Firis' back, between which hung his sword, shook with his fury. He shot Malik a glance as if to dare him to say anything. Then he looked at his brother again with a final, silencing stare before his eyes returned to the road ahead and he pressed on. 

Biris stayed in place for a second longer, then started following. "Still reckon it's a little peculiar." 

"Good, maybe you can tell him that when we're finished. See how far it gets you." 

The walk descended into silence then. Despite their arguing, Biris had a point. This did all sound a little odd. But surviving in the mercenary trade meant not asking a lot of questions about the job's back story. Especially when the job was one of questionable ethicality. Besides, if anything started smelling too rotten, he could always follow the Firis' suggestion and make a run for it. The two Skytouched might not have had the most enlightened air about them, but Malik wagered that such was part of their act and that underestimating them would prove unwise. If this job didn't pan out, he could always head elsewhere for a while. Maybe towards the outer regions of Keladesh. 

=== 

"Oh, you're going to look positively radiant, my dear," said Hatra for what had to be the third time. 

Phyre tried her hardest not to squirm as the woman's dexterous hands crawled through her hair, braiding, combing and pinning it up in a style that was growing more and more complicated by the minute. She had never had her hair crafted in such a way. The most work that Phyre had ever put in was to ensure that the long red strands were free of tangles every morning. She studied the masterpiece atop her head as it unfolded, not entirely sure of what to think. Interesting, delicate and puzzling, those were the words that came to mind. 

"I'll have you setting a new style, just you wait," Hatra chattered to herself. "As soon as you walk into that party, every Vocal in town— no, the whole of Keladesh, will start going unhooded." 

Phyre struggled not to smile at the woman's lofty ambitions. Instead she concentrated on planning out the night ahead. Neither of the Lanises would be attending. That had sparked some nerves to realize that she would be going to Mr. Gilbride's party all on her own. But Hatra and Niptri had their baking to take care of and Market Street expected plenty of food. It was only natural that they use the opportunity to bolster trade. So Phyre would have to fend for herself, probably the youngest at the party by a wide margin. At least Drop would be accompanying her. The little frog had been very satisfied with the way that their encounter with Mr. Gilbride had gone, as was Phyre. He definitely had nothing to do with the three men that had turned her life upside down, she was convinced now. Drop had also agreed that she should take a break from pursuing the Solar for a while, though it was difficult to put him out of her mind. 

"Well, if it's been a while and there's still no word, you can always use your wish to find him," Drop had suggested. That reminder had served to put her mind a bit more at ease. 

No matter what, the Solar won't get away with this, she told herself again. 

"There, that's your hair sorted." There came a strange sensation as Hatra's fingers at last left her head. How long had they been probing and scurrying around? 

Phyre cast her voice to the top of her head and studied the structure that now stood there. It was tall, very tall. There were several long pins sticking in to support the height. Hanging off Hatra's creation were a series of braids that looped around and almost reached down to her shoulders. She wasn't sure about the look, but she could see its artist smiling in anticipation of the feedback. "It's... I like it," Phyre said as tactfully as she could. "It's very intricate. Are you sure they'll like it?" 

"Oh, of course. This sort of look is very much the Kachtikar fashion at the moment, or so my sister tells me. They'll marvel at how up to date you are." 

"And the dress, they'll like that too?" Phyre asked. She looked down at the colorful gown she had on. Its pattern looked rather odd. The outer parts of the fabric that made the arms and waist were in a soft lime green but this gradually merged to a deep, sapphire blue as it came to the center of her body. One of Hatra's old dresses. Much of the afternoon had been spent clearing it of any dust or damage that had collected over the years, as well as stitching up parts for a proper fit. The entire day had been a bustle of activity with both overtaxed by the workload. Apart from Phyre's party preparations, there had been mountains of food to prepare. The air was heavy with the scent of baking dough, sugar and fruit, yet none of it had any effect on her appetite. She had already eaten more than enough scraps that Hatra had deemed unfit for the customers. At first, Phyre had been a little concerned about filling up before the party. 

"Oh, don't you worry about that, dearie," Hatra had said as she brushed the trouble aside. "There'll be lots of food there but you should barely touch it. It's unbecoming of a young lady to be seen stuffing her gob at these sorts of occasions." 

Though that sentiment had put her mind partly at rest, Phyre was still a little disappointed that she wouldn't be sampling any of the delicious fare that would be present at the manor. Drop, on the other hand, could hardly wait. Every chance for a private word had seen the frog blabbing away in wonder about what might be on offer. She had entertained his enthusiasm at first but it quickly grew to be a bit much. 

"Don't you fret about the dress," said Hatra, her voice drawing Phyre back to the present. "It's a perfect match for your hair. Look, you've got red, green and blue and then the orange of your occumarks. Nobody will be able to take their eyes off you. Now stand up and give us a spin." 

Phyre tried not to think about everyone staring at her as she stood to comply with the woman's demand. The hem of the dress fanned out a short way with her movement. 

"There, it's perfect." 

Drop was watching from beneath a pillow on the bed, out of sight of all but Phyre. She glanced at him. His throat was pulsing with breathing or nerves or thought as it so often did. Immediately, she guessed at what he wanted her to say. "I think it needs a pocket somewhere." 

Hatra gave her a quizzical look. "A pocket? But where would it go? You would throw off the flow of the dress. And besides, whatever do you need one for?" 

"Maybe not a pocket," Phyre tried instead. "Maybe a bag or a satchel. Something to hold... things." 

Hatra's look of confusion maintained itself for several moments then melted away into one of understanding. "Ooh, yes a satchel. My sister was telling me that some of the woman in Kachtikar have started taking little bags or satchels to things. I've no idea what they think to keep in them but that's fashion for you." Mrs. Lanis bustled out of the room, her feet thumping as she moved through the house on her search. "Maybe you're supposed to keep a mirror in it or some perfume. Goodness, the parties in Kachtikar must be getting quite adventurous if one has to check one's appearance and scent partway through. Ah, here's just the thing." 

Phyre waited until Hatra had returned before peeking at what she had retrieved. It was a small leather bag with a button clasp. It hung from a long belt that was meant to sling over your shoulder. Phyre took the bag and slipped it into place, then posed for Hatra's inspection. "What do you think?" she asked. 

"I think you've quite an eye for appearance. Or I suppose I should say you've quite a voice. It's just the right size and the brown has a lovely contrast with the green and blue of your dress." 

"You really think so?" 

"Why, of course. Look at you, Phyre, about to rub shoulders with the big names of Fissure. Your parents would be so proud of how you're doing." 

"Yes," she said through teeth gritted on her cheeks. Why did Hatra have to say something like that? Every time the wounds seemed close to healing, something surfaced to tear them back open. "Is it almost time to go?" 

"Just about, I would say. Though you should give it some time after that. It's never good to be the first to arrive. Now I need to get the finishing touches on my pastries underway. You stay put until you're ready to leave. No sense putting that dress at risk of getting dirtied up." Hatra strode out of the bedroom, mumbling a few things about the market party or baking. Something that didn't sound important. 

Alone, Phyre shut the door and moved to sit on her bed. She watched Drop squeeze his way out from beneath the pillow and hop over to join her. "Mind the dress," she hissed as he crept dangerously close. 

"Ooo, of course. I was so entranced by the colors, is all. Like a river running through the trees. Reminds me of the academy." Drop's eyes misted up for a moment with the memories. 

"Here, why don't you test out the satchel." Phyre laid down a hand and the frog hopped obediently into her palm. She lifted him up, undid the clasp on her bag and placed him inside. "Is it nice in there?" she asked. 

"Oh yes, much roomier than that pocket of yours. The leather's good and firm too." 

Phyre smiled and patted the satchel, happy that he would be comfortable. The concern she felt then prompted a question that had been on the back of her mind for a while now. "Drop, do you know what will happen yet when I use your wish?"  

He made a soft croak. "Well... I'm not sure. I've only one wish. If it gets used, does that mean I'm not a wishing frog anymore? But I won't be as simple as a normal frog, will I?" 

"Didn't they ever tell you about this at the academy?" she asked, starting to feel a little worried for the amphibian. 

"I don't remember them mentioning anything. Come to think of it, I don't remember any of us asking either. Seems like it would be a rather big thing for us to overlook, don't you think?" He poked his head out from the satchel and peered at her with those big, black eyes. 

Phyre gave him a soft pat atop his head with one of her fingers. "I think that maybe it might be better to not use your wish, if there's a chance that it will hurt you." 

If it were at all possible, Drop's eyes widened further. He shoved her finger away and gave her an intense stare. "No, you mustn't. I owe you this. If not for you, I'd be festering away in one of those striders' stomachs. More than that, I'd probably be out the other end and food for the trees by now. So there's a far worse fate than losing my status as a wishing frog. For this, I owe you my wish." 

Phyre stared at the frog who only met her face with a look as intense as her voice. He would not be denied this. "Alright, Drop. But I'm not using the wish until we're sure about what I should use it on." 

"Absolutely," he said and his expression softened then melted into a devilish glee. "Now what's say we hop off to this party and see what the food is like, hmm?" 

=== 

For once, the gate was already open when Phyre arrived at it. Several carriages were in the process of passing through. The guards, her Skytouched friends, were waving them in one by one. She passed to one side and tried to peek at who rode within but the curtains were drawn. As she approached the gate, the Skytouched spotted her, flashed confusion, the surprise as they recognised who she was. Phyre smiled at them and strode by confidently, giving a wide berth to the horses. She hadn't had a lot of dealings with horses in the past. They had always struck her as rather unpredictable and unwieldy creatures. Not the sort of thing that she would care to be too close to. Yet there were loads of them around. The carriages in the gate had only been the beginning. Much of Mr. Gilbrides driveway, along with the space around his pond, was being used as a place to hold the horses. At the manor's door, several folk were disembarking their ride, each dressed with a similar sort of flair to her own. That discovery set her mind a bit at ease. At least she wouldn't be alone in clothing. 

The races of Mr. Gilbride's guests could be seen partly reflected in the manner that they dressed. For the most part, the men looked the same. Each wore an expensive looking coat and tunic, trimmed along the cuffs and hems. The only differences were subtle, such as the folds of a collar or the arrangement of buttons. It was the womens' clothes that drew her attention and revealed race. The dresses of the Solars were engineered to be large and elaborate, each selecting a color to complement their light skin and hair. The Earthborn and Vocals - of the latter, there were only a few - wore simpler constructions that looked far more comfortable with their more sensible quantity of lace, ribbon and superfluous fabric. Then there were the Skytouched who had dressed virtually identically to their male counterparts, save for a brighter range of color. It was a fashion that she guessed kept flying in mind. Staying in the air would be rather difficult if one was wearing half one's body weight in cloth. 

Phyre stood off to the side in anticipation of an opening to make her entrance. At last there came a more elderly couple who took their time in descending from their carriage. She took her chance and hurried up to the steps. Raleek stood at the door and greeted her with a smile and a nod before waving her through. The hall inside was thronged with guests and a drone of conversation filled Phyre's ears. Almost immediately, she caught several passing glances in her direction, filled with curiosity. She could tell what they were wondering. What is such a young girl doing here? Where is this Vocal's hood? She was the only one present to be seen without one. Perhaps Hatra would be right and this would start a new trend. She could only hope. 

The entrance hall had been decked out for the occasion. Banners depicting a moon with an unnatural metallic gleam hung from seemingly every available location. The room was lit with Fifrey flowers stowed in pots that had been notched to the walls. Phyre stared at one of the plants, cast her voice over its mouth used for catching prey that were lured by its blue-glowing 'tongue'. It was quite a crowd. Far more than she had thought Fissure capable of producing. Then she realized the possibility that some of these people had traveled from one of the other towns nearby. Quite a way to go purely for a party. Proof, perhaps, of how renowned Mr. Gilbride's Iron Moon celebration was. 

"Welcome, my guests," echoed a voice around the hall. 

Phyre shot her own to the second floor where the voice had originated and found the Patab standing there. He was clad in a deep blue, almost black, suit that had been dotted with dabs of white so that it resembled the night sky. A full moon stood out just over his heart. He began descending towards the crowd with a cloak of similar design trailing out behind him. 

"Welcome to the thirty third annual Iron Moon. A time to celebrate the prosperity that the Earth's bounty has brought upon us. May the mines of Fissure and her surrounding lands never cease to provide." 

"Never!" the crowd chanted back. 

"Now, as I'm sure you are all eager to experience what that prosperity has brought, let us go onwards to the dining room. There will be music and entertainment there and all the delicacies you could ever eat. Come my friends." With a grand wave of his arms, Mr. Gilbride strode down the stairs and parted the crowd of his guests like wind through a field. 

The guests began to murmur excitedly as their host proceeded down one of the hallways on the right. Soon the folk started to follow but Phyre lingered with the intent of being one of the last to move. She stood to one side and listened to snippets of chatter that came with the passersby. 

"I'll wager that he's outdone himself again this year." 

"—any indication, there'll be plenty of Ember to go around." 

"My guess is he's still not over dear Edith, that's why he pours all his energy..." 

Unwilling to be the absolute last one through, Phyre positioned herself near the edge of the queue and allowed it to draw her along to wherever they may be leading. She tried to cast her voice at the rooms ahead but the constant chatter from the other guests stifled and blurred her vision. Soon they came to another hall that was far larger than that of the entrance. Tables lined the walls and the roof was high enough that she couldn't see it without raising her voice much louder. At the far end, where a wall might have been, was an array of stained-glass windows and doors that opened to a garden behind the house. Out there, where the crowd seemed to be drawing, stood a large temporary pavilion made from long beams of wood and ribbons of cloth. The colorful streamers were cast all over like the web of a spider, some even stretching their way back to connect with the house. Phyre stood on the threshold of the garden to take in the view. For the first time since coming here, she felt truly daunted about the prospect of this party. A spasm of pain rent her body as she realized that, in the past, her parents had always been around to guide her through such events. The only thing she needed to do was remain by their sides and respond to any questions or conversation that might happen her way. No shields like that anymore, this was the real, unsheltered thing. She wished so strongly to have paid more attention to how these events went. If only Hatra and her husband were here. 




Flexible Morals Ch. 06



Burning for a mind to confide in, Phyre moved off to one side to a space where the house met perpendicularly with a long, trimmed hedge. Many of the guests were gathering beneath the pavilion. Others had chosen to remain inside where the tables were already being filled with food that a team of servants were bringing out. 

"Drop," Phyre hissed once certain that nobody could listen in. 

"Mmm? Something wrong?" The weight of the satchel shifted as the frog hauled himself to its rim and lifted the flap of a lid to peer out. He struggled a little but managed to look up at her with his ebony eyes. 

"I don't know what to do." 

"Well goodness me, child. It's a party, isn't it? I shouldn't think that there's any specific code at play here. Just mill about and talk to whomever crosses your path. Try dancing out by the music or watching whatever entertainment they have on. Actually, why don't we start with the food, hmm? What are they doing down on the lawn? Is that some sort of bonfire they've got going? Looks to be a big open roast taking place." 

Phyre let her voice flow in the direction that Drop was pointing. Sure enough, in a wide open space of lawn, several fire pits had been dug into the ground and were now roaring with heat. Skewered above one was a boar that an Earthborn was tending to with a large, metal pole. Standing over the other two were a set of trays used for searing food. A table sat near by that was piled high with raw ingredients that party goers could grill as they pleased. The market street parties usually had a similar arrangement, albeit smaller due to the inability to dig up the road for fire pits. "No, those get to be really hot. You wouldn't like it." 

"Come now, let's try and find something to eat. You may have stuffed yourself on the scraps from before but I had the good sense to hold my appetite until the party," Drop finished his scolding with a decisive croak. 

"Fine," Phyre sighed and peeled away from the hedge. Where had Mr. Gilbride gone, that was the one thing that she really wanted to see to. She tried scanning the guests for him as they headed back inside but couldn't make out a familiar face. The constant chatter and movement certainly didn't make things any easier. Inside, the team of servants were loading up silver platters with mere mouthful portions of food to be carried out. Phyre strode up to one and looked at it, then looked at the Solar carrying it who was clearly doing his best to avoid staring at this little, unhooded Vocal girl. "What are these?" she asked. The tray held over a dozen squares of pink meat, each piled high with an orange goo. 

"Smoked salmon with a caviar paste, madam," he said with a wave of his hand over the tray. 

Phyre felt a thump against the side of her satchel and took it as indication that this was the sort of thing Drop wanted. She reached up, plucked two of the squares from the servant's possession, then moved away again. He gave a slight bow but Phyre was already on her way outside before she thought to reply with anything. It probably wasn't necessary. 

"What are you waiting for, child?" Drop cried, followed by an impatient series of ribbits. "My mouth is watering so much I'm going to drown in it." 

"Alright," she hissed and quickly flashed a smile to a couple that shot her a curious look. Phyre turned away from them and held one of the salmon squares to her satchel's mouth where a pair of slimy forefeet snatched it from her grip. "Do you want the other one too?" she asked. 

"Of course I do. Who could pass up a scent like that?" 

"But they're as big as you are!" Phyre struggled to avoid uttering a laugh at this amphibian whose eyes were dwarfing his stomach. 

"Don't you go underestimating my appetite." The second appetizer disappeared into the bag, followed by a loud croak. "Just you wait, I've been starving all day in anticipation of this. If my memory of the academy's end of year celebrations are anything to go on, this should be quite a night for the two of us." 

"What's that you're doing?" 

Phyre's jerked her head around, whipping her voice in the direction of the person speaking. She had been too distracted with the frog to see anyone coming up behind her. Yet here stood a Vocal woman with a deep, blue crescent on her hood. "Um," Phyre stammered. "I was—" 

"Is that a frog in your bag?" the woman asked, the crescent shifting as her brow furrowed beneath. 

Phyre clutched a hand over the flap of her satchel as though it would somehow stop a fellow Vocal's voice from entering. "He's, he's my pet. I take him everywhere with me. He gets in all sorts of trouble if I leave him at home." She attempted to produce an endearing smile in order to seal the explanation. Such was proving more difficult lately. As time wore on, and she grew older, it almost seemed as if whatever essence that had once made her 'cute' and 'adorable' to adults was fading. Another inevitability of age, no doubt. 

"That's a rather bold statement," the Vocal said thoughtfully. 

"Yes, I know," Phyre lied. 

"And I'm very impressed by what you're saying with the rest of your outfit. It's vibrant, as if to say 'look at me'." 

"Exactly." Phyre nodded and couldn't help but utter a nervous laugh as the lady made a far more confidant one. "Oh, who's that." Phyre pointed before the woman could say anything more. "I'm sorry, I have to go speak to... Someone." As quickly as she deemed respectable, Phyre scurried across a section of lawn to the other side of one of the paths that ran around the garden with every intent of putting plenty of distance between herself and that woman. 

Once Phyre was sure that she would be free of any further difficult conversation, she took a moment to breath and regain her bearings. The pavilion stood a short walk down the lawn. Most of the guests had gathered themselves there so it seemed the best candidate for where Mr. Gilbride might be. 

"Din you 'ave some ovva plan?" Drop asked, his words slightly garbled by a full mouth. "Somefing bout snooping round." 

"I want to find Mr. Gilbride first." 

A loud gulp emanated from her satchel. "Are you sure that's a good idea. Seems to be that you'd want to be avoiding him." 

"If I know where he is, I'll know if I can avoid him." 

"Right..." The satchel wobbled a little as Drop moved around and soon appeared to peek over the rim. "Let's have a look then. You think he might be down that way? Under that big tent thing? Hang on, that's him right there, isn't it?" 

"Where?" Phyre swept her voice over the crowd but it was so hard to make anyone out properly. The music had started up and she didn't really fancy the idea of going too much closer to the point of mingling in with other guests. 

"That one with the red sleeves." 

"No, Mr. Gilbride's wearing a dark suit that looks like the sky." Phyre frowned and turned her head to the frog as an odd thought crossed her mind. "How do you even know who to look for? You've been hiding every time there's been a chance to see—" 

"Phyre!" 

For the second time, she found herself whirling around to meet someone speaking to her from behind. This time, Phyre found the very person that she had been searching for. A warm, welcoming smile hung on Mr. Gilbride's face as he greeted her with a bow. 

"Glad you could make it," he continued when he came back up. "How are you finding the festivities so far? Certainly a notch up from the market street fare, isn't it?" 

"Uh, yes, it is. Everything's so much more... Fancy." How long had the man been standing behind her? Surely he must have only just appeared or she would have noticed. "Who are all these people?" Phyre asked in an effort to distract the both of them from such thoughts. 

"Oh, some folk from around Fissure, though most are trading partners of mine from the surrounding towns. Some have traveled from places as far as Rippling Moon." 

"Wow," she exclaimed. Those guests must have flown in on a Vouiareli. It was the only way she could imagine someone willing to make the journey from all the way up by the north sea. 

"So, are Hatra and Niptri not here? I haven't noticed them." 

"They had to bring food for market street." 

"Ah, of course. Wise of them to capitalize on the chance for more business." Gilbride's eyes roamed the garden and locked onto something down by the pavilion. "Excuse me, miss Phyre, I must see to the minstrels." 

With that, Mr. Gilbride brushed past her and strode with a driving purpose down the lawn towards a temporary stage where several musicians were currently playing. Phyre only watched him leave for a moment before she too peeled away. "This is the chance," she hissed to Drop. 

"What? Now? We couldn't wait a bit longer? There's still plenty of time to have another run at the food, don't you think." 

Phyre shook her head, though she knew he wouldn't see it. "No, we should get this over with while he's distracted." 

"Hmph, if you insist. But do try to walk a little more smoothly. You're going to make me sick and you don't want a sick frog on your hands. Besides, all this bumping around is making it especially tricky to finish off the salmon squares." 

Had Phyre any eyes, she would have rolled them at his chatter. That was what the other races of Keladesh seemed to do when they heard something particularly silly. 

"Another thing," Drop chattered on. "Where exactly are you expecting to locate the things that you're after." 

"Maybe in his—" Phyre snapped her mouth shut as she passed a servant while crossing through the great, glass windows that led inside. "In his bedroom, perhaps. Actually, he might be keeping them in his study, if he has one. A house this big has to have one, doesn't it." 

"I'd imagine so, but what if there isn't anything to find. What if he's burned these letters or pages or whatever else there is that might somehow link him to the Solar." 

"Then I'll leave it at that since there's nothing else I can do. But I have to at least see this through until there's nowhere left to go," her tone was firm and final in the hopes that it would silence the frog for good. Keeping their discussion masked from the servants and guards of the house was becoming tiring. That was another thought, what about the guards? Her past trips, this one too, had made it quite clear that Mr. Gilbride employed a good number of private watch. No doubt the same number were on duty tonight, possibly even more. Her voice would make it easy to avoid the ones that she saw first, but sooner or later there was bound to be a door that she needed to go through. A door that was considered 'off limits' to the guests. How to go about handling a direct confrontation? Phyre stopped inside the corridor that led back towards the manor's entrance hall and lifted up her satchel to speak closer with Drop. "There's going to be guards, aren't there." 

"Well I should think so. A man like Mr. Gilbride isn't going to let just anyone go parading around his home." Then Drop's eyes widened and he uttered a startled croak. "Hold on, do you mean to say that you hadn't yet thought of this?" 

Phyre shook her head. 

"Goodness me, girly. What were you expecting to do, talk your way past them? That may have worked for Hatra on those folk outside but they never struck me as the brightest of leaves. Besides, a night like this, I'd say the rules are going to be quite a bit more strict than normal." 

Phyre gritted her teeth. Every word the frog spoke only served to make things seem more difficult. Had she really come this far only to be thwarted by a mere oversight? There had to be some way. Then she remembered her trip out into the woods. "What about the cat? His potion, I mean. Maybe this is what it was for." 

Drop cocked his head. "How do you figure that?" 

"Maybe it... Maybe it makes me invisible to them, do you think?" 

The frog's eyes narrowed. "I think you should listen to yourself for a moment, Phyre. Doesn't that idea strike you as rather silly. Besides, you're plainly visible to me this very moment." 

"Right, so what else could it be? I don't understand what the cat was trying to do." 

"You're heading off course. Forget about the cat. Right now, we need a way for you to get into Gilbride's study. I think I know just the thing. Here, put me down." 

Phyre stared at the frog but didn't do anything else. 

"Come on now, girl, we haven't got all night." Drop frantically waved his forelegs at her. 

"What are you going to do?" she asked. With some degree of reluctance, she reached into the satchel, cupped a hand around his cool, moist body and hoisted him out, then lowered him gently to the ground. 

"I'm going to go make a distraction." 

"All by yourself?" 

Drop feigned a look of offense. "All by myself!? If there's one thing you need to know about these upper class types, it's that they hate to get their hands muddy. Don't you worry, in a few minutes the whole party's going to be put on hold." 

Phyre swept her voice over the tiny amphibian. His supple legs, slick, leathery hide and the blue drop of water for which he was named. Not exactly the most threatening of creatures, though he seemed confident enough in his abilities. "Okay, but you be careful. Don't get hurt." 

"Please, did you forget? I'm a wishing frog, we're born and trained to be tough. Those delicate little petals back there won't be able to lay a finger on me." 

"But those strider birds seemed to bruise you." 

"Pah, that's different. Those brutes were teaming up on me. Besides, they weren't afraid to fight dirty. If I'd been up against them one at a time and they had had the good decency to fight fair we would have been having strider stew for dinner, let me tell you. Now you go try and find this office. If you run into any trouble, just wait till my distraction goes off, okay?" 

Phyre nodded and watched as the frog started hopping back towards the party. In the corridor's gloom, he blended in rather well. All except for the patch of blue upon his back. She hoped again that he would be safe. He was certainly no ordinary frog. If there was any creature of the amphibian world capable of taking care of itself, it was Drop.



Flexible Morals Ch. 07



Malik glassed his gaze over the floor of the kitchen, trying hard as he could to keep the sight from affecting him. The couple lay dead and bloodied. The husband had tried to put up a fight but it was plain that the extent of his magic had never been the in realm of combat. As such, Malik had easily paralyzed the two Vocals while Biris and Firis did the deed. The killing was never easy, though it was certainly easier than when he had first begun. Something about the way a life slowly faded into darkness. The staggered, empty breathing, the fast-vacating eyes and the way they always tried to move just that little bit more as though this could stave off death's icy fingers. Finally their bodies were still and the hardest part of the job was over. 

Yet, for some unclear reason, it didn't feel that way. The only things left to do were to burn the house and report back. Two tasks that should have been simple. Something about this room told him otherwise. Perhaps he could have put his finger on it if the Skytouched brothers weren't currently banging through cupboards in search of anything valuable. 

"Why don'cha check the other rooms," said Firis abruptly. The look he flashed to his blunter brother, and the cupboard he had his hands in, made Malik guess that he had found something interesting and wasn't inclined to share. That was fine, let them keep the valuables. It was two against one, after all. No point in turning an otherwise uneventful operation sour. 

"Yeah." Malik nodded and turned away so that they could share their treasure in peace. He trudged down the short, narrow hallway, feet thumping on the floorboards. The space bent at a right angle, then ended with a window and two doors on either side. That struck him as unusual. Two Vocals, yet they had a home with three rooms. Even before he opened the doors, the story was falling into place. He didn't like where he knew it would lead. Behind the first, a sensible bedroom with a bed made for two. Some Vocal art on one wall and a vase of wilting flowers on a nightstand. Nothing to interest him. He reached for the second door but already knew what would be behind it. 

Malik had been in children's rooms before. Somehow, they always had far more life than the personal space of an adult. This one was the same. The small bed in one corner with its sheets tossed carelessly. A set of drawers sat opposite with a chair in front. Several colorful bits of glass lay atop the drawers along with a few other trinkets that held a great deal of value to their owner. The curtains were flung open, one pulled wider than the other. He stepped deeper inside and ran his fingers over the frame of the chair. It was small, she was young. She? Yes, that had to be. He didn't know why, but he knew. Malik crossed towards the bed and, with a wrenching in his heart, picked up the doll that had its head resting on the pillow. It had been stuffed to be soft and it bore the marks of age and love. A fuzzy, toy wolf. 

Dawn forgive me, Malik begged. Where was the girl now? He looked outside, praying not to see her. Nothing. What had made her be absent for the killing? A fortunate twist of fate or a miraculous foresight on her parents behalf? Either way, it didn't matter. She would be back soon enough, of that he was sure. Then she would join her family. 

No, Malik thought with a grimace. That won't happen. He knew what had to be done. There was still a chance that the girl could be saved. Why he wanted to, why this was affecting him in such a way, he wasn't sure. Perhaps it was the innocence. This room told the story of such a carefree, harmless life. He'd never before had a chance to see, or foresee, the results of what an innocent life could look like when damaged like this. In the past, his only targets had been of an age sufficient to have seen plenty of the world. This girl's life was new, yet he had already been sent to destroy it. No reason to let it be damaged any further. 

Malik forced himself to tear away from the bed and head back along the hallway. In the kitchen, Biris and Firis were making a show of trying to pull up a floorboard that didn't look remotely suspicious. They stopped as soon as they saw him. 

"Anything that way?" Biris asked. 

"Nah, nothing valuable. Just their bedroom and this other room that was filled with junk. Barrels of sand and some tools I've never seen. Probably glassworker things. You find anything here?" Malik asked, though he knew the answer. 

Firis shook his head. "Junk and nothing more." 

Malik nodded, peered out the window and prayed that the girl would stay missing for a while longer. "Figure. I'd say they've probably buried their coin outside somewhere. Either that or it's waiting at the shop that Gilbride said they owned. Better be the second one or we'll never find it, right?" 

"Yeah," said Firis with a look to his brother. "Hope so." 

"Guess it's time to start the fire, then." 

"Right." 

The trio made their way outside, the two Skytouched moving a good distance away from the house to watch. Time to make more magic. Malik leveled his hands at the building, palms pointed at it with the small, yellow suncrest in each ready to fire away. He concentrated on the heat he needed and drew more power than he ever had before. There was urgency, the fire needed to be fast and strong. It would look odd, the way it burned, but that didn't matter. They had to finish before the girl returned. Please, give me a few minutes more, he thought to the child, wherever she may have been hiding. Then Malik let loose with two, searing, yellow jets of flame. 

=== 

This had to be the place. Most of the manor was empty, even of guards. Phyre had been up and down floors, opening doors and checking rooms. She'd dodged the occasional patroller, an action made easy with her voice to see them coming and the countless offshoots to hide in. Yet here, the guard was standing his ground. He stood halfway down the corridor by an entrance that didn't stand out from any other. Phyre couldn't see what was inside, that would have meant raising her voice much louder. Already, it was right on the cusp of hearing. She lowered and waited in her hiding place around the corner, a strange opening in the corridor that was filled with a sofa and a small table with a fifrey plant atop it. The sofa had been easy to push out and squeeze behind. Now, all she had to do was wait for Drop's distraction. 

Will it be enough, Phyre wondered. It was a question that had been plaguing her since the search had begun. Though he was undoubtedly special, he was still only a frog. Not even a particularly big frog. Surely their were plenty of other guards around to handle such a disturbance. Why would this one need to abandon his post? She tried to force such troubles out of her mind. There was nothing to be done about them. Either this worked or it didn't, the matter was out of her control by now. 

How long had it been? That thought didn't do much to calm her nerves. Phyre had been wandering the manor for ten or fifteen minutes at least. What was taking the frog so long? It had to be his size, that was all. Drop would have had to make his own way back to the garden which must have taken a good amount of time. Then he would have had to get his distraction all sorted out. Yes, this was only taking so long because he was a small frog. He would be fine. He could— 

A steady drumming of footsteps rumbled into range of hearing. Phyre tucked herself in deeper behind the sofa. Did Mr. Gilbride have any Vocal guards? She didn't think so. A man thundered past her, rounded the corner and slowed as he came to his comrade. They exchanged a brief salute. 

"Emergency... in the garden. The Patab needs... everyone present," the envoy managed between gasps for breath. 

"What? Why everyone? What's happening down there?" 

The envoy doubled over and shook his head. "No idea but it's chaos. The guests are going mad, complaining of some monster and a squad of ours are caught up too. Come on, we have to go now." 

The first stood his ground, hand on his sword in its sheath. "He's got me posted here all night." 

Another head shake from the envoy. "We've closed up the house. All the guests are out back in the garden. He wants us all down there to round things up and restore order." 

There was a moment in which it looked as if the first guard was about to protest further. Then he thought better of it and nodded. "Right, let's go." 

Without another breath, the two men rushed past Phyre, back the way the envoy had come. She waited a few moments to be sure that they were gone. What had they meant? Absolute chaos in the garden, it sounded like far more than Drop would be capable of. And this monster, what was that? Then Phyre realized. The cat was here. Drop must have called him out of the woods or something. She felt a flash of worry and hoped that the guests would be okay. 

Satisfied that the guards weren't coming back, Phyre un-wedged herself from her hiding place and crept towards the now-vacant door. She reached for the handle but it wouldn't turn. Locked. Of course it was locked. But there was no time to go searching for a key. She stood back and pointed a finger at the wood around the dull, iron handle and keyhole. In that instant, Phyre put all thoughts of protest out of her mind. This wasn't a stupid idea that would get her in endless mountains of trouble, it was necessary. Instead she spoke a word that she had spoken countless times before when working with glass at her parents' shop. "Yaastra." 

Phyre's voice trailed from her lips and sank itself into the wood where she directed it. The word wound itself on, growing into an infinite whisper. She could feel the heat that it was generating and soon the door around the lock began to smoke. Wood blackened and iron glowed. Only once Phyre saw a hissing drop of orange did she cease the spell. All that remained of the handle was a gaping hole. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. 

Just as Phyre had expected, this was Mr. Gilbride's study. The left wall was lined with bookshelves while the right held a fireplace, currently silent. At the far end, in front of a large window with the curtains drawn, was a desk. The wood from which it was crafted had a deep, rich color to it, almost the color of blood. The shelves had been crafted in it too and made a stark contrast with the lighter colors of the books they held. But it wasn't books alone that sat on the shelves. Phyre approached and reached up to take a little wooden box that was resting at one end. It stood out from all the fine quality in the room like a knot in a sheet of glass. The box had no hinges, the lid simply lifted off. Yet she didn't open it. A smear of blue paint ran around the top and bottom to compliment the paleness of the wood from which it was made. All in all, it looked much cheaper and messier than everything else in the room. Why did Mr. Gilbride have it? Without thinking, she tucked it into her satchel and folded the flap closed. Then she turned her attention to the desk. 

Desks were no mystery to Phyre. Her father had had one at their shop, though it was far smaller and humbler than this one. Despite being so much larger, Mr. Gilbride had still manage to clutter his with all manner of papers, scrolls and trinkets. If anything in this house could prove his involvement one way or another, it had to be here. Phyre moved around to the other side of the desk and immediately felt daunted by the task ahead. All the writing seemed to be in the common form, not litides. It would take forever to work through. She opened some of the drawers that the desk held and, sure enough, found yet more documents to add to the piles. She hefted several out, placed them with the rest and stared at the mess, unsure of how or where to begin.  

With nothing left for it, Phyre slumped down into Mr. Gilbride's chair and began sweeping her voice over the papers. She held several closer so that they would be easier to read. One reported on last week's iron yield. Another seemed to be a letter from some merchant in another town. She moved on without reading anything more of either. Bills of sale, shipping logs, supply reports. So much information that told her so little of importance. Phyre shoved aside a mound of papers and reached into the bottom drawer to take out the next lot. Her fingers paused in mid flight. Something was beneath the pages, something that her voice had only just managed to reach through the stacks upon stacks of interference. Phyre pried away the sheets and clawed the object out from its tomb. Her fingers gripped a leather envelope, held closed by a length of string. With great care, she began to unfasten it, then realized that, given her method of entry, it was silly to try and leave no trace. Instead Phyre bit through the string and cast its remnant aside before flipping open the envelope and pouring its contents onto the table. 

More paper, she might have guessed. Except, these ones were written by a hand that she recognised. The writing was crude and jagged, letters far larger than they needed to be. Plainly the font of someone who had difficulty seeing images on a page. A Vocal made these words and she knew which one. Her father's name was clumsily scribbled near the bottom of each. 

Phyre's heart began to tremble in her chest. She couldn't recall a time when Mr. Gilbride had been one of their customers. Perhaps when she was too young to remember? No, these weren't bills of sale. They were letters, each with a date printed in the top right corner. Three of them in total. Phyre searched for the first one and began reading through it. 

Winston Gilbride 26th Ash, 735 

Forgive my legibility, though I thought you would prefer if I wrote in common as I cannot recall hearing that you knew litides. To the matter at hand, I have made my diagnosis of your wife Edith. She is suffering from a tainting of her blood, possibly incurred during her travels around the north sea. I have already begun bleeding the taint. As an addition, I have added a paste made from ground hornetcaps and kich leaves to her morning and evening meals. With any luck, we should see an improvement soon. 

Warmest regards. 

P.S. If you happen upon any Tapir root during your travels in Vast, I suggest you purchase it. I may have need of it, though I hope not to. 

Phyre's hands were trembling by the time she finished the letter. The healer who had worked on Edith Gilbride had been her father the entire time. Why hadn't Mr. Gilbride mention that? She swallowed, tried and failed to calm her shaking, then reached for the next letter. 

Winston Gilbride 3rd Luna, 735 

It pains me to bear this troubling news. For a few days after Edith's treatment began, things looked promising. Now, her condition is worsening. I fear the taint may be spreading faster than I can bleed it out. Bloodletting more vigorously I know will do her harm but, at this stage, it is our best chance. The effectiveness of my hornetcap mixture has diminished to the point of uselessness. We can only hope that her body is able to fight the taint in the smaller quantities that I will leave. In the short term, she will suffer. I suggest that you cut your trading expedition short. 

Warmest regards. 

The second letter joined its brother having revealed nothing that Phyre didn't already know. Its story was much the same as the way that Mr. Gilbride had told it, though she hadn't realized that he had been away for so much of his wife's illness. The way he had told it made it sound as though he had never left the woman's side. For a moment, Phyre felt confused by that. Then she saw when the final letter had been written. Right on the new year, a whole month later. 

Winston Gilbride 1st Sol, 736 

It has been several days now and still words cannot express my regret at having failed you. My confidence is shattered, my abilities no longer sound. I know that my words here will come as no comfort yet I will write them anyway. Her death haunts me. For this reason alone, I am strongly considering the prospect of retiring from the practice of a healer. Again, I know that such will bring you no comfort. In fact, I am unsure what purpose I meant this letter to serve. Perhaps to show you that I am not unscathed by your loss. I expect no forgiveness and deserve none. 

Forever remorseful. 

Phyre set the paper aside, her mind awhirl with thoughts. A large chunk of the puzzle had put itself in order. Her father, her father the glassmaker whom she had never known to do wrong, had been the healer who was unable to avert Mrs. Gilbride's death. What did that mean for him? Was he somehow guilty? No, from the letter, he had done all he could. Sometimes, even when you do everything right, things just can't be helped. 

Like this, said a nasty little voice inside Phyre's head. She immediately shut it out and instead tried to remember the time of her life when it was only her mother who worked with glass. The memories that she could find were faint beyond recognition. A time when she, like all children, lived day by day and never thought of anything outside themselves. This entire chapter of her father's life could have been going on right under her nose back then and she wouldn't have noticed. 

What about Mr. Gilbride? she wondered and tried to make two pieces of information fit together. Could it be possible that he had told the Solar and the two Skytouched to kill her parents out of revenge for losing his wife? But why now after so many years had passed? No, that part didn't make sense. Something was still missing. Phyre returned the letters to their envelope and replaced it in the drawer. She shifted her focus back to the desk in search of something more definitive. There had to be a record of Mr. Gilbride hiring those men, given how meticulous the rest of his records seemed to be. She didn't expect to find a note expressing the desire that they kill someone for him, why would he keep a record like that? Instead, she searched for whatever papers detailed their hiring as footmen to the manor. Perhaps some clue lay within. 

"... I don't want to hear your excuses. I stated that my study was to be watched for the entire night." 

Phyre froze, ears perked up and hair on her necking coming to attention. Ice began to flow through her veins. Mr. Gilbride was coming, she recognised the voice. The distraction was over already? How long had she been here? No time for such questions. Run? His study stood at the end of a corridor, only one way out. In a fit of desperation, she stuffed herself beneath the desk and pulled the chair to its original place. 

"Sir, I promise you I thought the order was yours. That was how Sivab—" 

"Hush, now I want you to repeat for me the exact words that I spoke when I posted you outside my study," Gilbride's tone sounded weary. They were still a short distance away, though it wouldn't be long until they reached the door. 

"Stand guard and allow nobody save yourself to enter." 

"Until..." 

"...Until you relieve me personally." 

"Precisely. Now I wasn't— Forde, has my door always had a hole burned through it?" 

"N-no sir." 

"Secure the room, will you. Try not to make another mess of things." 

"Yessir." 

There came a hiss of steel being drawn, followed by a creak that heralded Forde's entrance to the study. His boots thudded across the floor, then muffled as they reached the rug that sprawled there. Phyre watched as he scanned every corner of the room. Forde crept closer in, eyes fixed on the curtains. He probed the left with his sword, then the right. She held her breath, with it her vision, and prayed to Dawn that he would leave now. More thudding came as he turned around. Her heart leapt alongside the scraping of the chair. Then a hand wrapped around her dress and wrestled her out of hiding. 




Flexible Morals Ch. 07



"Found the thief, sir," Forde proclaimed triumphantly. 

Phyre grunted as the guard forced her, face first, upon the desk. She let her voice explore again and saw Mr. Gilbride entering, rubbing his temples as he walked. 

"That is no thief, she is one of my guests," he sighed. 

"But she was plainly spying. Stealing your records perhaps." 

"And she is also a child. Come, let her up will you? Then leave us." 

"Sir?" 

"I will speak to our little sneak in private. You may wait in the hall in case I have need of you." 

"Yessir." The guard nodded and his weight came off her back. 

Phyre lay still for a moment until he had moved away, then stood up and faced the Patab. A cold regard filled his eyes. All the joviality and kindness that he had once displayed were now gone. 

"Would you mind telling me what you were doing here?" Winston asked once the guard was out the door. 

Phyre took a moment to answer as she tried to choose her words with the utmost care. It didn't take long to realize that there was nothing to say that would help her now. "I wanted to see when you hired those men," she said in the hopes that this would at least mask the full extent of her guilt. 

"I see. Did you not believe me earlier?" 

"I did, but I wanted to find the Solar myself." 

"Mhmm." Gilbride nodded. He paced towards the desk and leaned against it. In that moment, Phyre felt far less comfortable about sitting in his chair. She would have moved but his words held her in place. "You're lying to me. Some people think that a Vocal's face is hard to read but I say you only need practice. What did you really come here to do? I get the sense that you think myself somehow involved in the killing of your parents. Am I correct?" 

Phyre gritted her teeth and nodded, thinking of all that she would sacrifice just to have Drop here for this. 

"I see." He looked away, eyes sweeping the bookshelves and going to the door. "This is the part where I'm supposed to tell you that you're wrong. I'm supposed to offer some piece of evidence that proves my innocence, aren't I? Is that what you want me to do?" 

She cringed. His demeanor felt so blunt and confronting. It made her want to hide under her bed or inside herself until he went away. "Yes," she said instead. 

"Well I'm not going to because I see now that I cannot trust anything to put your mind at rest. What guarantee is there that anything spoken will ever convince you? So I will not try." 

Those words caught her attention. Phyre stared at him, her brow furrowing down to narrow her occumarks. "What are you—" 

"Instead I will tell you that I did hire those men and I did instruct them to murder your parents." 

For the second time that evening, Phyre felt crushed under the weight of revelation. It was the very thing that she had come here to find out, yet that fact did nothing to diminish the shock. "You..." she mumbled. "But—" 

"This is what you wanted to hear, is it not? Shouldn't it come as some degree of relief that your suspicions were correct?" 

Her mind swam beneath the oceans of incomprehension that Winston was flooding upon her. Everything he said only half registered as she tried to put things in order. 

"You won't feel relief, I should warn you," he spoke on. "When Edith died, I felt two things, misery and rage. Over the months, it became a constant battle over which would win out. In the end, my sorrow faded and fury took over. Your father, this was all his doing. I could feel it but I could never be certain. A weak sliver of my mind kept saying that it was only terrible misfortune that had ended Edith's life. Well, now I know better. Now I know that Solon was no healer, only a man masquerading as one. So his guilt was confirmed and I had his life ended. An eye for an eye, that is the way of things." 

By now, Phyre was biting back the crying that wanted to begin. Her breaths choked in her throat. Heart and lungs fluttered in distress. "No," she managed and faced him. "My father only made a mistake. But you had them killed. His was an accident and you murdered them." 

"That is where you are wrong. Yes, I gave the order but I did not do the deed. It was a third party that ended the lives of our loved ones. For mine, a disease, for yours, a band of thugs. In both cases, mine and your father's actions allowed the crimes to happen." 

She felt warm, hot even. The anger that he had mentioned hazed her thoughts, yet it paled to the gray fog that still hung in her mind. Phyre watched as Mr. Gilbride slid off the desk and moved closed. Watched and did nothing as he stood over her.  

"I had wanted them to kill all three of you. Not because it fitted with my desire for vengeance but because to do otherwise would leave witnesses. So you can imagine my surprise when you arrived at my home, alive and unharmed. Someone had betrayed me, not those Skytouched brothers, mind. It was your Solar friend. Funny how you pursue him considering that he saved your life. What do I mean? He assured me that everyone had been taken care of, then, I suppose, he fled. Why he did these things I do not know and it doesn't interest me. 

"At first I meant to finish the deed. Then I realized that you knew so little about what had happened and I decided it best to leave things unchanged. But you simply couldn't move on, could you? Neither could I. So, given the situation we now find ourselves in, you see how I cannot let you go again." 

Phyre gasped, her wits suddenly flooding back in just in time to register Gilbride's hands closing upon her face. One clamped over her mouth, the other on her nose. With her voice stifled, the world went dark. She clawed at his unseen form, forced his hands and stretched for his face but his strength greatly outmatched her own. Her lungs began to burn, heart raced and muscles screamed. Phyre's blood surged with adrenaline, then with some more. A heated fury. Here he was, the man that had killed her parents and torn her life asunder. He stood right before her and he was winning. Her body boiled at the thought. 

"I won't pretend that I'm doing you a favor, but at least you're being spared something. You see, vengeance has brought me no joy. It didn't return Edith to me. If anything, my life is hollower than ever. This is not a burden that a child should have— what in Dawn's name!?" 

Suddenly his hands slipped from Phyre's face and she flooded her lungs with precious air. The room surged back into view. Gilbride had stumbled back, his mouth ajar in shock. Over by the door she spied a dab of blackness watching the scene develop, yet it was not this that had caught the patab's attention. He focused on her, exactly what she wanted. "I don't care!" she hissed, feeling the fury spit from her lips. 

Gilbride's arms were raised in defense and Phyre reached to grab them. At her touch, his face contorted and a scream echoed through the room. She flung him aside with strength unrealized. It was then that Phyre saw the focus of his fear. Her hands were covered in it, her arms too. It spread to her shoulders and across her chest, rolling across her clothes like a tangle of whispering tongues, yet it didn't burn. Flame everywhere, engulfing her skin without the slightest bit of harm. For she wasn't on fire, she was fire. Her flesh was fading quickly, replaced by a crimson pyre of hatred. Only for a moment did that revelation concern her. Then she remembered Gilbride and thoughts returned to vengeance. 

With a smile, Phyre reached for the crumbled, contorted and quivering form of Winston Gilbride. The floorboards smoldered and embered with her body's proximity. The man's clothes ignited before she could reach him and his skin began to char. Gilbride tried to crawl away but her arms lashed out and coiled around his legs. She pulled him in and sent a scalding tongue of fury to snake around his neck. It boiled through his flesh and his eyes quickly lolled and went dim. With his demise, Phyre let go. 

Around her, the room was rapidly coming ablaze. She looked to the door for where the shadow had been but only saw Forde instead. He stared back, lips quivering, sword raised and eyes wide in fear. Then he bolted down the hall, shouting something about a demon. Phyre ignored him and put her attention to the burning of the room. It wasn't enough that Winston should be dead. This was the place where the deal that saw her parents dead might have been made. It had to go too. As did the corridor outside it and the rest of the manor. Anything that had once born witness to Gilbride's vile plans had to be destroyed. He would not be buried, he would be erased. 

Floorboards hissing and vaporizing beneath her, Phyre trod from the study and began her blazing walk through the incinerating manor. 

=== 

An orange glow grew in one of the windows until there could be no mistaking its cause. Drop stared from his spot amid the hedge wall at the back of the garden that served as a fence of sorts. Stared as the light grew and spread, eventually appearing in the next window. A wave of realization crept through the guests. One by one they pointed, voices raising. Several guards were racing inside, another fleeing back out. Drop didn't smile, this was a nasty sort of work. Part of him, the slightest bit, felt guilty. 

"It's started," he said unnecessarily to the figure sitting at his side. 

The cat's nod came slow and ponderous. 

"I want her to be okay after this. We'll need to meet with her one last time." As Drop said these things, he realized that he had grown attached to the girl. Rather, he felt the realization that the cat helped him find. 

"I know," said Drop, refusing to let the concept bother him. The blaze was well underway now. Much of the western side was glowing and the flames had even begun to spread to the exterior. He wanted her to be okay. Physically speaking, she would be fine afterwards. It was the mental side that worried him. The faintest sliver of curiosity from the cat prompted Drop to respond. "Yes, it's what she wanted. What she wished for. That doesn't mean she or I have to like it." 

For a moment, it almost felt as if the cat showed a hint of sympathy. He didn't, but it almost felt that way. 

The flames grew and spread as the seconds ticked by into minutes. Guests huddled together on the green and watched uselessly as servants and guards banded together in a futile effort to douse the flames. They drew water from the manor's well and hauled buckets from the ponds and fountains to no avail. Even when several Solars tried to use their spells to draw heat from the fire, there came no progress. The blaze refused to die. Nothing would stop it until its master's will was completed. 

By now, the house had vanished behind a rippling curtain of orange. Had Drop not known better, he might have feared that the flames would spread to the garden. But she wouldn't let them hurt innocent plants, nor anything else lumped into that category. The night above the manor had become hidden behind a shimmering pyre of smoke. Occasionally a window exploded from the heat inside, sending a jet of flame into the darkness. 

"She should be finishing soon." Another unnecessary remark, though not incorrect. So intense was the fire that it scarcely needed monitoring anymore. Nothing could stop it now. Even if the folk of Fissure somehow did, there wouldn't be much left to save. "Time to meet her." 

The cat nodded and waited for Drop to climb upon his back. When the frog was in place, they arrived outside the front of the manor and sat before the pond. This would be the side that she would emerge from. The side that held greater privacy. 

A short time passed before a silhouette began to form against the roaring glow behind. 

=== 

The heat felt incredible. Not because it scorched and scalded, but because it soothed her nerves and calmed her mind. Phyre pushed through a wooden wall, aided by its rapid deterioration from facing the blaze that she had become. She turned right and billowed down a short set of steps. Even the stone beneath her winced at the heat. The room she came into was the same that she had seen those Skytouched brothers in during her first time here. There were already flames seeping down from the floor above but that was insufficient. Phyre placed a hand on one of the tables and uttered a hissing giggle as a sheet of orange spread from her arm to char the wood. Several coiling flares sprang from her body and jumped to whatever combustibles they could locate. She crossed the floor, checking her work. The inferno was already burning strong, another room finished. Phyre climbed the steps opposite and proceeded down the corridor that led to the manor's entrance hall. She had saved the first for last. The final place to burn, then her work would be done. 

All around, her ears filled with the beautiful sounds of pyroclasmic vengeance. The air screamed, flames crackled, paper and wood shrieked and blackened or simply turned straight to ash. They had burned her home, her parent's shop, now she had done the same. Just as Mr. Gilbride had said, an eye for an eye. Phyre could hardly think of a more fitting end to this wretched manor. But it was not yet over, she had one final place to destroy. 

Phyre broke into a run, a yellow conflagration that sped down the corridor, incinerating all she passed. At the threshold to the entrance hall, she stopped, heat rippling off her body. The cavernous room looked exactly the same as it had been. Winston's banners hung from the ceiling like vines. Not for long. But there were innocents here, too. The fifreys used for illumination. Phyre moved towards one that hung from a hook on the wall beside her. She reached up to cradle its home in a fiery embrace. 

We won't hurt you, Phyre told it as much as she told her flames. Then she let it go. Another set of embers leapt from her arms and back, each homing in on an iron moon banner. Pyres spread and in moments, the room was ablaze. Finished at last, yet she chose to linger. This scorching sanctuary felt welcome and relaxing. No reason to leave just yet. She could sit back and enjoy the manor as it grew hotter and hotter. 

Hotter? The thought jerked Phyre out of her complacency. Something was wrong, the room did feel hotter. Yet, how could it if she burned with the same ferocity. Unless... 

Phyre looked at her hands, her arms. The flames were dying, she could see it already. Dying and cooling in line with her fury. Suddenly the room felt far less comfortable. The walls radiated and seared her skin as it slowly resurfaced beneath the orange torrents that it had recently become. Smoke swirled and clouded the air. It flowed down her throat as breathing resumed and tried to choke her lungs. A new objective surfaced, get out, flee. Phyre covered her mouth and stumbled forwards, stamping across ember patches and around the larger blazes that were building to life. Cold air rushed in from the entrance. So cold against her body that it felt as though she was pushing into a blizzard. She staggered outside, nearly tumbled down the steps and gasped down freezing breaths. Fatigue flooded in along with her natural body. So much energy had been spent. Her only thoughts were fixed on collapsing and surrendering to sleep. So she did. 

=== 

Several discomforting sensations bombarded Phyre until she left the land of dreaming. Her body ached all over from fatigue and the chill-induced shivers that were still going. Something slimy kept brushing against her cheek. Her voice unfurled and found Drop sitting beside her. The trees here grew thick and Phyre quickly realized that she was no longer in the vicinity of Mr. Gilbride's manor. Rather, where the manor had been. It wouldn't be there too much longer. 

"Where am I?" she asked and sat up to escape the frog's touch. 

"In the woods," he replied. 

"But how? What happened?" Phyre could recall leaving the manor, then falling asleep. Or had she? There was certainly a spot of black, but she couldn't quite remember what had caused it. Sleep seemed to most logical choice. 

"You fell over and wouldn't wake up, so he brought you here." Drop pointed to something by her legs. 

Phyre's voice cast forwards and found the wandering cat sitting by her feet. As was his custom, he gave a single nod. 

"How?" 

"That's his secret." 

"Oh, okay." Still a little disoriented, Phyre took a moment before realizing a far more pressing question. "What happened back at the house? You were there, weren't you, cat?" 

Another nod but the cat offered nothing to accompany it. Instead, Phyre looked to the frog for an answer. 

"Hmm? Oh, um." Drop cleared his throat with a few croaks. "It was the cat's gift, you see. The one you drank. The cat thought that it would be rather suitable, given your name and hair and those marks on your face. I don't know if I agree." 

"But why?" Phyre asked, turning her head between the two creatures. 

"It's what you wanted, isn't it? He gave you the courage and the power to see your plan through." 

"Was that my wish?" 

"Your wish?" Drop croaked. "No, that was... Something else. And on the subject of wishes, there is something that I must confess." 

Phyre stared at the little amphibian, looked into his big, black eyes. Then the truth came out, a truth that she should have seen earlier. "There is no wish, is there?" 

Drop shook his head. "And there never will be. I'm sorry for lying. You were so sad and I wanted to do something to help." 

For a while, Phyre didn't say anything. Though the past few days had certainly been unusual, this night had fast become the icing on the peculiarity cake. The sheer quantity of strangeness clouded her mind and made it difficult to know where to begin. "It's all so confusing." 

"I know." 

Again there was silence. Phyre looked at the cat in the hopes that he would somehow be able to provide the answers to the questions she didn't know. Instead he stood, turned and began padding away. "Wait, what are you doing?" she asked. 

"We've helped all we can," Drop explained. "Now we have to go." 

"But I still need you." A pang of grief shot through Phyre's body at the thought of losing her tiny friend. 

"I don't think you do. You've learned a lot, my lady. You've grown too. There's little more that I can do to help. Besides, there are lots of others out there who need us the way you did." Drop began hopping towards the cat. 

"Please don't." 

"Do not worry, my lady. We will meet again one day. And I will always be watching out for you." Drop caught up and clambered atop the cat's back, who, despite the effort being put in, didn't seem to mind. 

"Wait!" Phyre cried again as a last resort. 

Drop peered at her. 

"If there's no wish, then you're not really a wishing frog?" 

He shook his head. "I'm not even a frog," said the frog. 

"So... What are you?" 

A smile crept across his mouth. "That, my lady, is a very good question." 

The cat resumed his steps once Drop was in place and began to fade into the forest. 

"But what am I meant to do now? Mr. Gilbride's gone but my parents are still dead. This can't be the end, can it?" 

The cat paused and his head twitched to the right as something caught his attention. His ears folded back and he hunched down, ready to pounce. With total silence, the cat sprang into the darkness and disappeared from Phyre's sight, taking Drop with him. 

So they had gone. The Wandering Cat and the wishing frog, slinking off on some new hunt. Some new journey and adventure. Feeling a little more certain than she once had, Phyre rose and took the first step on a path to do the same. 

=== 

Afterword: 

So ends Phyre's story. Maybe it will continue at some stage, maybe it won't. I don't think it needs to but we'll see. Anyway, if you wish to give any feedback in the form of a comment, please do as I'd love to hear it. I'll be resuming Arms of the Ocean with chapter six going up soon. As a quick reminder, all these stories take place in the same universe but the erotic ones have the names of places, races and things changed as a way to further distinguish them. And that's all.