Chapter 28: Tular (Patreon)

The lifts were impressive, as promised. A series of wooden structures almost like nordic longhouses started at the canyon’s edge, then folded over the cliff to stretch hundreds of feet down to the surface of the river rushing below. They shed much of their outer trappings as they went, becoming skeletal sets of beams that exposed the travellers inside to the elements as they descended. A simple weighted pulley system moved platforms continuously up and down, and despite there being a fair amount of traffic, no one had to wait long for passage. 

Elliot, Hadrian, and the beleaguered grimoire hunter had passed through quickly, paying a toll of three clips each and joining a wagon loaded up with ears of corn on a wide platform headed down. There was only a flimsy guardrail to separate them from the open air. It made for a nervewracking descent, but the view of Tular was worth the adrenaline. The massive tree city was much clearer than before, although still shrouded in the mist of the falls. Its branches stretched through the sky like the fingers of a giant wooden hand, leaving long swathes of shadow on the water underneath. 

They made it down uneventfully and booked passage on a small river boat that had been one of many waiting at the base of the lifts. Grik was subdued, but not as panicked as he’d been after the attack. Elliot had approached him earlier and tried to apologize, but the man had waved off the attempt, avoiding any further conversation.

Breka—skipping any talk about needing to gather more information—had told the three of them to go on ahead because no one would flag them as powerful enough to have been involved in the struggle, and that she would follow with the wagon once things had quieted down. Elliot had no idea what she’d promised or threatened Grik with to feel comfortable setting him free, but she’d seemed unconcerned about his departure.

“When we arrive, you’ll see the Rootharbor,” Grik said. He was sitting next to Elliot on a bench at the back of the boat, with Hadrian standing over his shoulder. “It’s a network of docks and wooden walkways set up between the largest of Mother Yarba’s aerial roots. It’s quite impressive.”

Elliot glanced up, pleasantly surprised to hear him volunteering information again. “How do we get up the tree?”

“There is a carved staircase for the poor or the athletically inclined,” Hadrian replied, “but we already have passage booked with the Sky Guild, as is common for most of those with at least some means.”

Grik had been about to say something, but he winced and fell silent when Hadrian started speaking.

The boat was moving steadily, propelled by the twin oars of its captain. Elliot had been eyeing him surreptitiously ever since they’d gotten underway, as he obviously had some kind of magic skill for rowing. The man hadn’t even broken a sweat, his face vaguely bored, but every stroke caused the boat to shoot forward through the water. The river was wide and choppy in the heavy wind, and the sharp cliffs to either side framed Mother Yarba up ahead in a stunning panorama.

When they drew close enough to the tree’s base Elliot saw the Rootharbor for himself. Mother Yarba’s trunk was wide, like a mammoth baobab. Its roots, though, looked much more like those of a mangrove, hundreds of them arched and curling down from the entire bottom third of the trunk, each the thickness of a redwood tree in its own right. They stretched out for almost a quarter mile around Mother Yarba, and between them a web of ropes, wooden walkways, and floating docks were strung together in a chaotic sprawl. Dozens of river boats were coming in and out every minute, and people were everywhere.

It was insane, like a major city back on Earth. Somehow Elliot hadn’t really thought of the fact that magic would allow for complex construction. He’d been imagining all the towns in this world as variants of Bastogne—medieval style, squat and rugged. Although maybe that was unfair, medieval Earth had some amazing architecture…

“If I might be so bold, since it’s Elliot’s first time here, perhaps I could show him to the Harbormaster’s office for visitor registration?” Grik asked tentatively. “I assume you’ll be busy arranging the final details of your transportation, Master Hadrian.”

Hadrian’s expression stayed largely neutral, but Elliot thought he picked up the barest hint of amusement. “If you wish.”

“Would you like an escort?” Grik said, turning in Elliot’s direction. “It’s not a mandatory step, but if you end up having any business in the guild halls they’ll want to see an official mark of entry.”

“Sure,” Elliot said, more because he wanted a chance to have a conversation with Grik than out of any particular interest in registrering. Hadrian would have told him to do that if it was important, and he wanted to apologize for dragging the book merchant into this. “I’d like that.”

As the river boat pulled abreast of the first root curling out of the water, Elliot finally got the chance he’d been thinking of for hours, and used [Detailed Appraisal]. It failed to activate. Not a huge surprise. Despite the lack of clarity on what mixture of sentience and etheric density pushed something over the threshold from minor to major existence, a magical tree of this size had to have massive amounts of ethera running through it, whether intelligent or not.

The boat closed the rest of the way swiftly under the captain’s power. The roots became increasingly impressive the further they went, more and more breaking through the surface of the water and covering the sky above their boat as they approached the trunk.

Their destination was a floating dock strung between two roots that stretched overhead. The riverboat captain pulled them in flush with the bobbing wood, and Elliot had to focus to make the jump without an embarrassing stumble back into the water. Hadrian tossed the man a coin that glinted silver in the afternoon sun, and they’d arrived.

“When you finish with your registration, meet me there,” Hadrian said, pointing towards the base of one of the largest roots on their left. “That is where we will meet our transportation.”

Elliot made sure he fixed the spot in his mind. “Sounds good. See you later.”

Grik led the way, starting with a precarious ascent up a steep wooden walkway then treewards along the root, dresser slung on his back the whole way. The path was wide enough that it never felt like tripping and falling off the edge was a huge concern, although Elliot felt better seeing there were wide nets strung out underneath just in case.

“I don’t mean to be presumptuous,” Grik said after they’d been walking for a few minutes, “but it seems to me that you are a recent addition to your group, and perhaps aren’t fully aware of who you’re traveling with?” His voice jumped an octave at the end.

Elliot looked over, surprised. “Well, yeah, sort of. I know some things.” He paused, realizing he didn’t quite know what Grik had either deduced or been told by Breka. “I’m sure they have a lot of secrets, but I feel like I have a sense of who they are as people.”

“Mmm,” Grik replied noncommittally. “I wanted a chance to talk to you away from either of them. You’ve said you don’t know much about the world, and I believe it’s safe to say you likely don’t understand what you’re getting yourself into.” He glanced over at Elliot. “Obviously you know she’s powerful. But do you know what she is?”

Elliot frowned. “What do you mean what she is?”

The book merchant stopped walking, turned, and brought his head close to Elliot’s. “She’s a Fury,” he whispered, his lips tight. “A Fury out of Andaluse. I don’t know her companion’s story, but he’s clearly in her inner circle. You don’t want to stay close to her. You’ll be killed in a crossfire before the year is out.”

There was no one else in their immediate vicinity, but Elliot still glanced around to make sure no one could hear. “What’s a Fury?”

Grik’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?” He looked around as well, then leaned in even closer. “A seventh circle, Elliot,” he hissed, “one of the most obscenely powerful people on the continent. A weapon of war.”

“Is that really so strong? Doesn’t it go up to the ninth circle?”

“Doesn’t it go up to…what? What are you talking about?” Grik’s eyes had grown slightly wild. “Are you saying you truly have no understanding of what the seventh circle means? A Fury unleashed could destroy a small city. There are fewer than ten of them active north of the Crowns, and every single one is tracked as closely as possible because they are devastation made flesh. Are you insane?”

“Okay! Sorry, I get it,” Elliot replied hurriedly. “I’ll think about it, alright? I appreciate you looking out for me, but Breka has been very kind.”

“And I’m not gainsaying that. I don’t think she would do you harm. But her enemies will come, just like they came on the trail yesterday, and eventually someone will get through her defenses.”

Elliot considered telling Grik that it was actually him who had caught the attention of the enemy that had attacked them, but immediately dismissed that as a poor idea. “Fair enough.”

“Good,” Grik said, sighing. He looked slightly more relaxed. “Just consider it. You’re a nice young man, and I would hate for you to die for something that should have nothing to do with you.”

As he was speaking a deep, moaning cry echoed overhead, and Elliot looked up. Flying down from within the forest of leaves above was some kind of carpet.

Or actually, some kind of manta ray? With a person on it?

As it drew closer, the carpet resolved into something definitely living. Flat, furred, and diamond shaped, it had a human rider sitting on its front point, which looked no more like a head than any other part of its body. It was a dark brown color, almost black, and about twenty feet across. There was no evidence of wings, or any kind of propulsion at all.

“What is that?” Elliot gasped out.

Grik glanced up. “Ah! That’s right, you wouldn’t have seen one. That’s a broadback. They’re domesticated by tamers at the Sky Guild and used for transport.”

Elliot’s mouth hung open. “You have domesticated flying things? Why are we taking wagons places? This is amazing!”

“Well,” Grik replied, clearly smothering a laugh, “they’re tamed beasts, so it’s not like there are many people willing to raise them. And they use pure ethera for propulsion, easy enough in the Gerrwood with the ambient levels, but try to take them out too far and you’ll hit dry patches, which can lead to a very sudden death. Unless the rider has a powerful enough core to make up the difference, which isn’t most.”

“Why don’t people like tamed beasts? Can I tame something?”

Grik sighed. “I apologize. Somehow despite you telling me over and over I continue to assume things about your knowledge.”

“Oh it’s okay,” Elliot began, ready to throw out his story about being from the far south, “I come from—”

“No, don’t, please,” Grik interrupted, “I assume your unique history has to do with your…patron, and I’d prefer not to know.”

Well, that’ll do. “Understood.”

“Taming is something you could certainly pursue, although I recommend significantly more research before considering it. Anyone can form a bond with a creature of low enough power and intelligence, if they can acquire the creature's consent. Most tamers raise their intended target from birth to ensure the process is smooth. There are relatively cheap potions you can buy, for one thing. Imbibe the potion, focus your will, and the bond will be created.”

“What are the main downsides? I haven’t seen anyone with a tamed beast, at least I don’t think I have, and given how easy it sounds that seems strange.” 

“Well there’s upkeep,” Grik said, massaging his chin with one hand, “and the fact that it tends to influence your future skill selections to a degree many find unpalatable, but the true thorn in the rose is the bond itself. Your cores enmesh themselves, and that means two things. One, the beast will never be more than—at best—half your strength, although obviously if their strength is focused in a completely different direction than yours it can still add considerable utility. Second though, and more damning, is the fact that if the beast is killed it will have a devastating effect on your own core. Death is uncommon, but most are crippled for years, sometimes permanently. It makes it almost unheard of for those who partake even slightly in combat, and it limits the options of what can be tamed to those beasts with reasonable lifespans, which is quite the limiting factor indeed.”

Elliot winced. He’d already been imagining bonding with a powerful creature and using that to blunt some of his disadvantages.

“There are exceptions,” Grik continued, as they started walking again. “One of the more famous rangers of the Greenguard must have some kind of skill or powerful subprofession that changes their rules, because they’ve bonded to a Skysteel, and the merest infant of that kind would have a core greater than half as strong as almost any human. There is an academic out of Rhodea, Master Hindenus, who has carefully sculpted a simple crow into a powerful scrying beast, invisible and almost impossible to find, yet almost always flying somewhere above him and providing a rich and detailed view of his surroundings. The exceptions prove the rule, though. For most, it’s an unthinkable vulnerability.”

As they approached their destination, structures started popping up more and more densely. The closer to the trunk they drew, the wider the roots became, and eventually there started to be room for full homes and what looked like warehouses built directly on the bark. There was even a sizable group of small, round buildings strung directly underneath the roots in a tangle of rope and webbing, accessible through ladders or semi-attached spiral staircases.

They didn’t stop until they reached the trunk itself, and a sprawling wooden building built directly into its side. There was a small crowd of people milling about the entrance, mixed with a near-constant trickle of those entering and exiting.

It was exactly how he would have imagined a government building in a tree city. Boxy, plain, and wooden, with few windows. He felt a twinge of nervousness. Bastogne had left him with a bad taste in his mouth when it came to dealing with authority figures.

As they approached the door, someone gripped Elliot’s left elbow and twisted it firmly but not quite painfully up behind his back, causing him to let out a yelp of surprise.

Simultaneously, a man in a clean-cut black tunic turned from where he’d been standing in front of the Harbormaster’s office and began to walk towards them. He moved briskly, like he was late to a meeting, and his expression was stern.

Elliot’s mind was racing. Was this the Talessi, or was it about the attack from yesterday? He tried to turn, but stopped and hissed as the person gripping him twisted his arm slightly in response. There were already too many enemies to keep track of and he’d only been here a few weeks. Rowan would be impressed. His heart was racing, and he tried to think of something helpful to do. Scream? Try to kick backwards?

Before he could do anything, the man in black drew close enough for his features to become clear, and Elliot’s mouth fell open. He could almost have been Grik’s twin, his lanky features and straw-blond hair nearly identical.

“You forgot to notify the family of your return to civilization, Grikarium,” the man said brusquely. “It’s time to come home.”