Chapter 37
There's a particular kind of satisfaction that comes from beating someone with their own magical staff. It's a warm, fuzzy feeling like revenge wrapped in a cozy blanket of self-righteousness and blunt trauma.
I stood over the heap of collapsed cultists. They whimpered quietly in their huddle of limbs.
I tossed the gaudy peacock bracelet onto the closest one, like a consolation prize for Most Ineffective Cultist. "Next time," I muttered, "try offering me cookies instead of brainwashing jewelry."
From the corner of the tent, I heard Laine fiddling with something.
He was hunched over a chest, grinning like he'd found buried treasure. Or at least something he could sell to buy snacks. He glanced up as I approached.
"This," he said proudly, patting the chest, "is the reward for winning the festival."
"You mean surviving the parade of drunken lunacy," I said.
"Exactly."
With a dramatic flourish that was both unnecessary and deeply annoying, he opened the chest.
Inside: a strange-looking staff coiled with golden vines and topped with a glowing orb that pulsed like a caffeinated heartbeat. Next to it sat a small, rugged-looking pouch. It looked like something you'd find on a particularly underpaid courier.
Laine grabbed the staff and threw me the pouch. "Here. You can have this. I'll keep the staff. Might sell for a pretty penny."
I caught the pouch. It was lighter than it looked. I frowned at it. "What is this, a burlap sock?"
Then came the voice.
"Actually," Vorrak drawled from my hip, "that's a spell-enchanted Bag of Holding. Infinitely larger on the inside. Very rare. Very powerful. Very useful. Unlike your friend."
The cloth that had muffled his sarcasm had apparently come loose during my rage-fueled pummeling session.
Laine jumped a little at the skull's voice. "When did he start talking again?"
Vorrak continued, undeterred. "Put the staff you just used into the pouch."
I eyed him. "Why?"
"Because it's fun watching people break their brains trying to figure it out. Also, storage."
With a sigh, I shoved the staff, easily longer than my arm, toward the mouth of the pouch.
It disappeared without resistance, slipping in like a noodle into soup.
Laine stared. "Wait… wait. That thing fits inside that?"
"It's magic," Vorrak said smugly. "Try to keep up."
I stared at the bag, then slowly smiled. "Okay. That's actually kind of useful. Almost worth what I just had to go through. Almost."
"You're welcome." Vorrak said.
I stuffed the pouch into my belt and, without breaking eye contact, redraped the soundproof cloth over Vorrak's cage just as he launched into a long-winded story about some wizard's digestive problems.
Silence.
Blissful, blissful silence.
Laine looked at the bag, then at me, then at the staff in his hand. His expression shifted from greedy to calculating.
"…Wanna trade?" he asked, voice casual.
I narrowed my eyes. "No."
"Come on, Sam. I bet the staff glows in seven different colors. Maybe it plays music!"
"Too late," I said, already pocketing the pouch. "You picked the fancy stick yourself. Live with it."
He sulked.
I turned toward the tent's exit, ready to leave this entire nightmare behind.
Then stopped.
Peered through the curtain.
A wall of people stared back.
Hundreds of them. Festival-goers, judges, kids waving flags, and a guy in a papier-mâché griffin costume. It was all there.
All waiting quietly.
Eyes wide. Mouths open. Breath bated.
"Laine," I said, backing up, "find another exit."
"What? Why? This is your moment! Go out there, raise your hand, and wave like a hero!"
Then he looked around, and his true ambition came out. "Plus, I've looked for the prize money, and I can't find it here. If we want it, you'll have to go out there and show you finished the challenge."
I sighed. "You want me to throw you again?"
He wisely shut his mouth and began scouring the tent like a raccoon, searching for garbage treasure.
Eventually, he found it. A trapdoor near the back, half-covered by some dramatic drapery and the unconscious body of a cultist.
Laine knelt and yanked it open. "Ta-da! Heroic escape route."
"Into a hole in the floor."
"It's more of a dramatic descent."
We climbed down into the dark tunnel beneath the tent, Laine muttering a joke every third step.
"This reminds me of that one time I escaped a burning tavern in my underpants."
I glanced at him. "You're not going to elaborate on that, are you?"
"Nope."
"Good."
The tunnel sloped upward. Damp walls. Flickering torchlight. A smell that hovered between mold and bad decisions.
At the end, another trapdoor.
Laine pushed it open and peeked out. "Coast is clear."
We emerged into daylight. Though how far from the festival we'd gone, I couldn't say. The cheering was now a distant echo. The air smelled of grass and freedom. No confetti in sight. Just empty fields, a few rocks, and a rabbit that looked vaguely suspicious of us.
I turned in a slow circle.
"Is it over?" I asked the sky. "Can I stop pretending to be a festival contestant now?"
"I'd say we've earned a break," Laine said, patting his pouch of winnings. "Plus, I made a small fortune betting on you."
I stopped. Turned. Started.
"You… what?"
Laine jingled his coin pouch. "Placed some bets. You know. As a form of emotional support."
"You made money off my suffering?"
"Only the best kind of suffering," he said cheerfully. "The entertaining kind."
I slapped the back of his head.
He stumbled forward with a yelp.
"Keep walking."
He rubbed his scalp. "You hit me more than the cultists did."
"That's because you're around more often."
We set off toward the road. Neither of us said anything for a moment.
Then Laine said, "So… where to next?"
"Lis," I replied. "We still need to get there."
"And if the next town has a festival?"
"I will personally set it on fire."
He laughed.
I didn't.
The next morning, the universe gave us a gift: a caravan of merchants heading to Lis.
"Going to the city?" one merchant asked, adjusting his hat.
"Eventually," I said.
The merchant told us it would be two bronze coins apiece. I waved at Laine to pay the man.
He grumbled, handed over some coins, and muttered something about highway robbery and economic betrayal.
We climbed onto an empty wagon and settled in. The road was bumpy, the sun was shining, and Laine was humming a tune I was 90% sure was about cheese.
And that's when I noticed the man sitting across from us.
Blue skin.
Scales.
Gills.
And a very calm, very judgmental stare.
"Laine," I whispered, elbowing him. "What the hell is that?"
He glanced over. "Seafolk."
"…Aren't they supposed to be, you know, in the sea?"
"Well, not right now. They walk on land, too. Lis trades with them. A bunch of them live there full-time. You'll see more."
"Oh. So, fish people are normal here?"
Laine shrugged. "Normal-ish. Also, don't call them that. They don't like that word."
I remembered something Ghis had told me about Lis's close ties with mermen. Guess it wasn't just a fairy tale.
"So," I said, shifting gears, "tell me more about Lis."
"Laine's Tourist Guide, huh?"
I humored him. "Let's go, Mr. Brochure."
He smirked. "Lis is an independent state. Not part of the kingdom, but they play nice. Lots of trade. Great food. Terrible street performers."
"And who rules it?"
"A council of merchants. They vote on a leader every few years. Sometimes it's a spice mogul. Sometimes it's the guy who owns the dockyard. Depends who bribes the best."
"So… a democracy?"
He blinked. "A what?"
"Never mind."
I leaned back, ready to enjoy the ride.
Then I remembered who I was traveling with. "So why are you going to Lis?"
He looked around like he was expecting eavesdroppers, then leaned in close.
"The Dark Auction."
"…The what now?"
He grinned like a kid with bad intentions. "Underground auction. Secret venue. Big items. Priceless stuff. You can't buy your way in. You need connections."
"And what exactly are you planning to buy?"
Laine raised an eyebrow. "Buy?"
Right. I'd forgotten I was talking to a thief.
We reached Lis an hour or two in the afternoon.
And it was beautiful.
The city rose from the coastline like a sculpture carved from the sea itself. Blue marble buildings gleamed in the fading light. Towers curled up from behind the high walls like they were built by giants with great taste and zero budget constraints.
And behind it was the sea.
Wide. Endless. Smelling of salt, secrets, and future regret.
I had never seen the ocean in this world before.
For the first time since my arrival, the world actually seemed beautiful.
The caravan stopped just outside the gates. People began disbanding, stretching their legs, and complaining about road snacks. Laine hopped off the wagon and started stretching like he'd just climbed a mountain.
I stepped down, too, and then heard a voice.
"Land lover."
I turned.
The merman from earlier stood behind me, face unreadable.
Before I could speak, he gently took my hand and slipped something into it.
A marble.
Blue. Smooth. Slightly warm.
"I have a feeling we'll meet again," he said. "This will make that possible."
And then he walked away.
"Okay," Laine said, blinking. "That was weird."
"Agreed."
But I didn't throw the marble away.
I put it in my magic pouch.
If the last few months had taught me anything, it was that strange gifts from suspicious aquatic strangers were probably important.
Lis was chaos and beauty wrapped together.
We pushed into the main streets and found ourselves in a swirl of noise, color, and smells that ranged from "exotic spices" to "fish that made bad life choices."
A child bumped into me. Except when I looked down, it wasn't a child.
It was a fully bearded man glaring up at me.
"I'm fine," he grunted.
I stepped back.
"What the hell?" I asked Laine.
"Never seen a dwarf before?" he replied.
"This world keeps throwing new biology at me."
"If it breathes, walks, or slithers, you'll find it in Lis."
He was right.
We reached the central market, and it was like someone had thrown a masquerade ball for every species in the world.
Dwarves waddled by arguing over axe polish.
Elves haggled loudly over seaweed scrolls.
Mermen glided past in salt-damp cloaks.
Birdfolk flapped and squawked in debate.
I saw a cat-woman bartering with a feathered lizard man. An elf arguing with a crab person. A bird-man holding hands with a cat lady, the two looking at each other like they'd just written a terrible romance novel together.
It was… a lot.
I tried to walk past the colorful crowd. We barely made it ten steps before a bird-man with what I think was a fake monocle swooped down and tried to sell me "premium enchanted feathers guaranteed to increase your charisma and reduce molting."
I told him I wasn't a bird.
He said, "charisma's charisma."
Before I could respond, a dwarf shoved between us, muttering something about "feathered frauds," then promptly tripped over a cat person's tail and launched himself into a barrel of pickled onions.
I didn't stop to help.
Laine turned to me as we managed to lose the feather merchant. "So. What's the plan?"
"I'm going to find an inn on the beach, lie down, and pretend this world doesn't exist for at least twenty-four hours."
"With what money?"
I patted my pouch. "The coins I stole from your pouch while you were sleeping."
He looked horrified. "Stealing is wrong!"
I stared at him.
"You're literally a thief."
"That's different."
"How?"
"I have style."
I smirked. "You have delusions."
A cool breeze hit my face as we stepped onto the beachfront.
I took a deep breath. The sea stretched out before us, endless and unknowable.
For the first time in a while, I smiled.
Of course, I had no idea how much I'd come to regret stepping into this city.
But for now, the sand was warm, the air was salty, and Laine was too busy checking his pockets to complain.
Victory.