“So they’re—?” I asked.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Ever said. “The Long-Reach

  vines are naturally infused with Indigo. They grow straight upwards,

  and pull anything nearby along with them.”

  “They’re one example of a plant species that’s developed

  in equilibrium with a particular color of radiance,” Fiddle went on.

  “Such things are rare, but a few dozen sorts are known around the world.

  We couldn’t possibly create and maintain the Step-Gate transportation

  system without them. That’s part of why a small patch was transplanted

  here from the Gensai Vayotah jungles to the south several centuries

  ago.”

  “A patch?” My voice went up an octave or so,

  craning my neck to look at the vertical plant life that loomed ahead of

  us. We were all on our own feet now, as we’d started regularly coming

  across farms and outposts along the road. The tallest roofs of the city

  were becoming visible ahead of us, but they were by far dwarfed by the

  upward-striving tangle of vines.

  “It’s not a whole jungle up there, is it?” La’a griped.

  “Kinda looks like one,” I shot back.

  “Meh. You haven’t seen a jungle till you can’t see anything the jungle.”

  I couldn’t argue with that definition.

  “Wait, is that a in the middle of that stuff?”

  Ever answered. “That will be the Chief Vine-Keeper’s

  residence. It’s a very important post, responsible for not only the

  health and growth of the vines but their protection from theft and

  overgrowth.”

  “Damn. Talk about room and board with a view.”

  As we got closer to the city and its vine-garnish, the

  road we were on curved to the south and joined up with a much busier one

  before approaching the walls. Along the way here, I saw the horses and

  carts I’d been expecting, and they were pretty unsurprising. That is,

  aside from one conveyance that seemed to be nothing more than a toboggan

  sliding along the ground under its own power, surfed on by a lizardy

  looking person like La’a, wrapped in voluminous blue and teal robes.

  Their pace was significantly faster than the rest of the traffic, and

  they casually swooped from side to side along the road, dodging one and

  all without turning their head or changing their cool, aloof stance.

  As we closed in on the city wall, which was light grey

  stone, and far larger than that of the little town from this morning, we

  found ourselves caught up in a bit of a slowdown as everyone was

  required to pass some inspection before entering. Not knowing exactly

  what was up made me a bit nervous, but none of my companions seemed at

  all put out, aside from La’a, who usually seemed at least a bit put out.

  I found myself wishing that Fiddle would activate his cool telepathic

  conference ability again, so I could pester them about what was to come

  without being obvious about it.

  Instead, I just picked a moment and asked out loud. “What can we expect at the gates?”

  They all glanced at me, but Ever was the one who replied.

  “Not much. Just like when we entered Graidal town the other day, they’ll

  ask to see our fairies light up, and ask for our names and business.

  We’re just passing through, planning to stay overnight and use the

  Step-Gate tomorrow, so there won’t be any difficulties.”

  “Okay. Thanks. So why do they want to see our fairies?”

  “It’s standard practice,” Fiddle said.

  I gave him a look. “Okay, but is it standard practice?”

  “I—” He paused, seeming a bit stumped.

  I could almost read the words “it just is” in his eyes. To

  his credit, though, he didn’t say that, but stopped and thought about

  it some instead.

  “I suppose it’s mainly to make sure no rogues get into town.”

  “Rogues?” I asked, imagining shifty-eyed men in dark leather with sneak attacks.

  Ever shivered at the word, and La’a spat.

  “Those who refuse a fairy are called rogues,” the drake stated.

  “Or are refused by them,” Ever added, her voice haunted.

  “That can happen?”

  “No.” Fiddle said firmly. “No one has ever been refused by

  all the fairies in a grotto. That’s an old wives’ tale. But some have

  been stupid enough not to bond with one at all. They become very

  dangerous over time. Randomly empowered, but also more and more insane.”

  “Ee. That does sound bad.”

  We shuffled quietly forward as the line moved for a while.

  “It’s also important to know when powerful hunters are around,” Ever offered after a bit. “Seasoned or greater, like us.”

  “Oh. Can they tell how strong you are by the glow or something?”

  “Approximately,” Fiddle said. “There can be some

  uncertainty between stages sometimes, depending on individual skill at

  reading their shine, but a general idea is pretty easy to get.”

  About that point the drake on the hoverboard arrived at

  the head of the line, and all our attention snapped to him. A blue fairy

  lit up between his long horns, bright as a spotlight, but that was only

  the prologue to the light show that unfurled from him. A blue miasma

  rolled out around the drake, several feet in every direction, shimmering

  and shifting like an aurora borealis come down to earth. The edges of

  the effect curled and solidified into half-seen images of books and

  scrolls opening and unrolling around him. At the same time a feeling

  came over me: a sense of great wisdom and deliberation, like a sagacious

  old professor looking over my shoulder, preparing to pass judgement on

  my work. A shiver ran down my spine. Despite all that had happened to me

  in the last couple of days, this was by far the most thing I’d experienced.

  “Woah!”

  “And sometimes it’s very, very obvious,” La’a said dryly.

  “What was that?” I asked. The absurd light show was

  already dying down, seeming to retract back into the fellow it had come

  from.

  “That—is the aura of a Master,” Fiddle said, a note of awe in his own voice.

  “Third or fourth degree at least, I’d think,” Ever added.

  “Aura?” I remembered they’d mentioned Master as the highest title for collectors of magic powers.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “We told you about the intrinsic benefits of increasing radii already, didn’t we?”

  “Um.”

  “That’s a no.” La’a arched her eyebrow at Fiddle.

  “Oops. Well, yes, so—when you gain radiance through your

  fairy, it gives you motes you can use to learn certain abilities. But

  that’s not the only thing the process does. As we gain power, there are

  natural changes that always take place. Not very many in the first few

  ranks, and even we Seasoned are barely distinguishable from the

  unadvanced in most ways. We need a bit less sleep than others, and are

  generally much more resistant to disease and infection. More than that

  has to come from specific powers we learn. But as one advances into the

  realm of the Adept, the radiance suffusing our being begins to affect

  every aspect of ourselves, even the mind and soul, so they say. The aura

  is the visible sign of that.”

  “Adepts can kinda light themselves up in their native color. It takes a Master to put on a show like that guy,” La’a said.

  I nodded, my mind still hung up on the uncanny display.

  “So you guys will start being able to do that pretty soon, huh?” They

  nodded agreement. “What about me though? I understand that Kiri had as

  big a collection as any of you, but Fee is pretty dim in comparison. She

  only shows what was left behind and what I’ve gathered since I got

  her.”

  “That’s an excellent question, Anne,” Ever said, sounding

  more teacherly than ever. “I have no idea. Did the records you found say

  anything about that, Fid?”

  “I’m afraid not. We’ll just have to wait and see. I’ll

  definitely want to write a followup to those records with everything we

  learn from Anne’s experience.” Fiddle looked thoughtful. “This might

  even be enough to get me a listing. Never expected that to happen.” He

  smiled to himself.

  I frowned, not sure how I felt about being the subject of a

  scientific report of some sort. In theory, I was in favor of the

  advancement of knowledge, but in practice, here and now, I doubted the

  robustness of these magical animal folk’s privacy practices, at the

  least.

  “If you’re gonna do that, can you try not to make it too obvious who I am? Or maybe hide my identity till I’m gone, at least?”

  Fiddle looked up at me. He didn’t ask why right away, but

  considered for a moment. “I could set up the record so it’s restricted,”

  he finally offered.

  “Restricted how?” I was getting more and more curious

  about this dream library, my imagination spinning between magic internet

  and orangutan librarians.

  “Hm. Maybe limited to those who already know you, or who you are?”

  “You can do that? That’s a start. Can you limit it to people who mean me no harm?”

  “Ah. I’m not sure. But I can try.”

  “Okay, I guess I can deal with that. Say, what does it take to gain access to this great library of yours, anyway?”

  “Oh, it’s not too hard,” Fiddle brightened at the

  question. “You need lucid dreaming first, and then you can get basic

  access right away. There are more steps before you can add or change

  anything in the records, and various things are restricted. I, uh. I

  don’t actually recall how many motes those things took to ignite

  though.”

  “Fee?” I asked.

  :Lucid dreaming requires five motes to ignite, bonded.

  And the first stage of access to the great library also costs five blue

  motes.:

  “So, ten all together,” I shared aloud. A bit fewer than I’d recently acquired.

  “But, I have advanced access already,” Fiddle said. “I can

  act there for you. Why would you bother spending the resources to

  duplicate that ability?”

  I chuckled. “I’ve played lots of RPGs over the years, kiddo, but I’ve just never gotten the hang of focused builds.”

  “What is an ?” he asked. Of course.

  “It stands for role playing games.” The words translated

  to ’our’ language, where the acronym hadn’t. But of course the acronym

  didn’t fit any more, so I sounded kinda crazy. “It’s an acronym,” I

  tried. Huh, well they did have a word for acronym, which surprised me a

  little. “Never mind. Let’s just say I like to experience things for

  myself, and since I don’t really have a goal to focus on in my build at

  this point, I don’t see a problem with branching out some. I take it

  there’s no such thing as respeccing in your whole fairy system?”

  Fiddle’s confused face answered that for me.

  “You can’t change how you’ve spent motes after the fact?”

  “Oh, no. Definitely not.”

  I nodded as the line shuffled forward some more. I have to

  admit, I wasn’t as completely casual about spending my resources as my

  questions made it seem, but I was curious about the library.

  It sparked all sorts of possibilities in my brain, far beyond just

  potential access to information from the past.

  #

  Despite her apparent misgivings, Anne handled her second

  city entrance with aplomb, in Fiddle’s opinion. She coolly ignored the

  adoring looks of the Ulfur guards, and returned the slight nod offered

  her by the single Ursur among them, letting Ever speak for her what

  little was required. And then they were in the city, finally back to

  something like real civilization.

  “We should stop by the local Hunters’ Guild too, and let

  them know about those grass cats,” Ever commented as they moved into the

  open street. The familiar, wave-textured pavers felt good under his

  toes, and Fiddle felt his steps speed up.

  “Easy enough. This place clearly grew from an Imperial

  camp, so the Hunters’ will be at the main square. This way!” Fiddle

  pointed off to their right as he led the group toward this first

  destination.

  He had to admit, at least to himself, that he was

  flattered by Anne’s interest in the great library. He could have taken

  it as a lack of faith in his ability to utilize it on her behalf, but he

  chose not to see it that way, and didn’t think she did either, given

  her rather confusing explanation. Instead, it might be a thing that they

  could share, an opportunity to teach her about more aspects of her new

  world. He could easily imagine her hunched awkwardly over a reading

  desk, distractedly gnawing on a pinkie-claw the way she did when deep in

  contemplation. A little smile wandered across his face.

  His heart lurched. It was so hard to

  separate Anne from Kiri. The pain of the loss of his childhood friend

  kept being both refreshed and upended by ’her’ continued presence. But

  the animating force of the familiar body was so distinct, so very

  not-Kiri that it was easy to slip into seeing her as entirely separate, a

  wholly distinct new friend, who only happened to look as similar to the

  old one as a twin. And then some thought would pop in, reminding him

  that only one body was shared between the two of them, and the presence

  of the one directly connected to the loss of the other, and his heart

  would twist like this.

  His only consolation was that the difference in

  physicality made all the difference. He realized now that his desperate,

  unrequitable love for Kiri had been almost entirely focused on her

  outward self: Her strength, her presence. Her confidence and impossible

  lust for life drove him wild with desire. The shy, shrinking hesitancy

  of Anne was an almost perfect opposite. So much so that he found himself

  physically unmoved even when he’d been straddling her shoulders,

  carried along like a toddler by a parent. The friendliness he felt for

  her was entirely chaste, and that was a huge relief.

  He sighed, lost enough in rumination that he failed to take note of the presence just a few feet ahead.

  His stride had carried him easily to the city’s main

  square, and the wide, tiered facade of the Hunters’ Guild that took up

  most of its southern facing. He reached for the heavy front door at the

  same moment someone inside yanked it open, and found himself bouncing

  off the feathered chest of a muscular Falkur storming out.

  “Fuck!” The other spat.

  “Oh!” Fiddle skittered backward, boosted by the force of their collision.

  The brawny bird caught his balance and stamped closer, the

  tilt of his hooked beak perfectly replicating a disdainful sneer.

  “Shove off you Lightless small, hunters are passing through here.”

  The squirrel hesitated for a split second, torn between

  offering a safe apology and asking Thoma to shine in the bastard’s smug

  face, hoping to wipe that sneer away. He was nearing Adept after all,

  and who knew how strong or weak this jerk was?

  Then a shadow fell over the Falkur in the doorway. A heavy

  hand came to rest on the edge of the tiled roof above the man’s head

  and a deep, voice asked calmly, “What did you just call my friend?”

  A sharp plink broke the sudden silence, as one black claw shattered a tile.

  In unison with the stranger, Fiddle swiveled his head

  around and up, taking in the fabulous immensity of the Ulfur who had

  stepped up just behind him. His heart suddenly beat faster.

  Anne had a ridiculous way of holding herself most of the

  time: shoulders rounded and knees deeply bent, as though trying to erase

  her size, as if she could meet those around her at their level. It was

  bizarre and unexpected, an unnatural stance for any large person, but

  especially for her body’s former owner. It marked her as ’the other one’

  in a single glance.

  None of that was present now. She stood to her full

  height, stance wide and balanced, muscles tensed and ready. And the

  narrowing of her eyes promised mayhem worthy of Kiri.

  “Uh, uh. Nothing, Esteemed! I was just leaving,” the

  Falkur stuttered. He shuffled away from her, gesturing toward the

  now-empty doorway.

  “Good. Keep it up,” she answered. Her hand dropped from

  the edge of the roof to the door that was beginning to swing shut,

  casually holding it open for Fiddle to precede her inside.

  He felt his cheeks begin to heat, as well as his loins. Oh, shadowed caverns.