“I know I’ve been a drag lately,” Zora said, almost with a certain pride, from behind a roasted drumstick. “But I appreciate you making me come today. I needed the fresh air.” She and Cayd were walking leisurely down a boisterous market street.
“I mean, I wanted you to see the smoke,” Cayd said, gesturing to the massive pillar of black smoke hanging ominously in the air.
“Hey, I learned long ago that when you start investigating fires, people think you’re a firefighter.” She shot a sly look at Cayd. “Are you ever gonna learn that?”
“Doubt it. I’ll probably just buy a bucket, to be honest.” Cayd was glad to see Zora in such high spirits. Ever since the night with that victim’s mother, she had been in delicate moods. Cayd continued his investigation alone for a few days, sneaking into mortuaries or tracking down surviving family members. The situation wound up working quite well, with Zora helping Linda out to cover rent and freeing Cayd up to explore.
But all he found was information he felt better hiding at the moment. Every single victim was between thirty and fifty years old with straight, hazelnut colored hair and a sharp chin. Every single woman whose body had been found or who had gone missing looked just like Zora before their eyes were gouged out. It was looking less and less like a coincidence with every discovery.
“What do you think it is?”
“Well, you know how I was down near the scorched cities? That kind of looks like Dorvan’s avatar.”
“You think he’s up here?”
“I sure hope not. He’s dangerous.” Cayd’s words came from experience.
“Is the smoke coming this way, though?”
“Wind’s blowing it north. No way to tell if the source is moving from here.”
“You two talking about the calamity?” a man asked, momentarily turning from his market stall.
“Yeah, you know anything?” Zora asked.
“Not much, just that whatever it is knocked a chunk off Kraag.”
Cayd gaped. “Really?”
“Yeah, big fireball yesterday evening. Just flew straight from the fire to the turtle. Couldn’t hear anything, but my daughter said if you were on the second or third story, you could see it well enough. His blood lit up the sky, she says.”
“Well, that’s troubling,” Cayd muttered.
“No, no no,” Zora said, shaking her head. “We have a murder mystery to solve, okay? Let the god bleed. He will be fine. He’s lived this long.”
Cayd sighed. Zora was right. His curiosity almost seized him for a moment, and he felt shame. No matter how many rocks struck Kraag, Zarraz was a greater threat.
“Cayd Zahid!” boomed a voice that stopped Cayd in his tracks. Zora took a step forward, and was startled by Cayd’s sudden halt. No one else on the street seemed to hear it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Did you hear someone call my name?”
“No?”
“Cayd Zahid!” the voice boomed again. “You and your partner, the Pirate Queen, are being summoned to the Talnorel Alliance.”
Cayd's face contorted into a frustrated grimace. “No!”
“No what?” Zora asked, looking worried. Suddenly, over Cayd’s shoulder, something caught her eye.
An old woman, layered in clothes with a walking stick. She was standing on the stoop of a storefront, but the door did not match the building at all. It was whimsical, curving and bulbous. “Captain Zora Dimitova! You are invited to join Talnorel’s Alliance!”
“Cayd, who is this woman?” Zora asked.
“Did she call your name?”
“Yes.”
“Dammit. Don’t look at her.” Cayd grabbed Zora, spun her, and began hurriedly moving her down the street.
“Who is that woman, Cayd? Do you know her?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Cayd Zahid and Zora Dimitova!” The woman’s shout came again. The woman was inexplicably ahead of them, the bizarre door having attached itself to yet another storefront.
“Keep moving, keep moving,” Cayd said as they moved past her again. Frustrated and confused, Zora began to run, and Cayd followed.
People gasped and dodged to let the pair run as the old woman with her trumpeting shout appeared in a flash from building to building, sometimes while she called out their names.
“Dammit!” Cayd spat as one of Crossroad’s green spaces appeared amidst the throng ahead. A small knoll covered in shrubs and trees served as a place for the city folk to rest or sit in the grass. But while they ran forward, something in the green space began to shift. Twinkling, shifting lights turned shafts of sunlight opaque, and the greenery simply shifted to the side as the city made room for a small, cute cottage that appeared out of thin air.
“No more of this!” the woman barked, slamming her staff on the ground.
Cayd and Zora both yelped as some unseen force swept them up off of the street and whisked them toward the cottage. No one around seemed to notice as they zipped past. The two halted completely just in front of the woman, grinning wildly at Cayd.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Oh how I love this city. No one bats an eye at a goddess teleporting around the streets to kidnap some destined heroes.”
“Let us go, Corrine,” Cayd demanded.
“You’re late for dinner.”
“Invitation declined.”
“Now, why are you being so rude? You know how little I approve of that kind of behavior, Cayd.”
“I am done dealing with you, Corrine.”
“I am not done with you, Cayd.”
“Who is this woman?”
“Your host for the afternoon,” Corrine said gleefully. She tapped the staff again, and Cayd and Zora drifted back to earth. “Now, come inside, friends. You are our final guests. You are literally holding up the entire meeting.”
“Leave my seat empty, Corrine!” Cayd growled.
“Will. Not. Happen.” The old woman moved to the door to her cottage and opened it, gesturing for the couple to enter.
Zora looked at Cayd, confused and bewildered. “What is going on?”
“Destiny, Ms. Dimitova. You have been called upon and you will answer the call.”
“Says who?” Zora asked, suddenly finding her footing.
“Corrine, the Hag,” she said with a tilt of the head.
“Don’t know her.”
“But I know Solanna,” Corrine sang.
Zora hissed in pain, pushing up her sleeve to see Solanna’s brand glowing a bright gold. She looked at Corrine with fury.
“And she hates when I get disrespected. Now come inside, you two. Again, you are holding everyone up.”
Cayd and Zora looked at one another, feeling defeated, and stepped into the cottage.
“Welcome, friends,” a tall woman with long red hair said to Petra, Sam, and Wesley from a seat at the far end of a massive dining table. “Seat placement is determined by the Divine Intervention coin on the place mat.”
“Mom, you really are here!” Wesley said, squeezing around Petra and Sam, who were looking around the room in awe.
“Yes, Wes! I’m so glad to see you safe. You have hidden yourself so well. I lost track of you almost immediately,” Chief Maplegrove said softly. “I believe this seat is yours.”
Sam looked to the table for the empty places, but was taken completely by surprise when he saw Sister Maribel.
“Hey there, Sam,” she said with a nod.
“What are you doing here?”
“I have a lot of information, first-hand information, on what is happening.”
“And what is happening, Priestess?” Petra asked, as she picked up a coin. Showing Sam the snowflake with the crossed hatchets, she gleamed. “Found my seat.”
“There is a woman in a lot of pain who has been pushed down a dark road. We’ll get more into it when Corrine is back.”
“I wonder who these final guests will be,” said another person already at the table. A surprisingly handsome fanged folk sat, his hand swirling a glass of wine.
“This is Robin, the Speaker for Kraag,” Chief Maplegrove said to the newcomers. “He will be representing his elder god with us today. The Sister here is the mortal for Gold Magic, which means, you paladin?”
“Represent the Dreamer!” Robin said, his eyebrows arching in admiration. “Aren’t you young to be representing an elder god?”
Sam was confused. He could not be much younger than Robin. He opened his mouth to say as much when Petra tapped his shoulder.
“I think you’re here, by me.” She held up a small gold coin. Etched on it was a heart enrobed in feathered wings. A halo hung above it, and a drop of blood was gathering at the base of the heart. “Bleedingheart, yeah? Pretty clever if you ask me.”
Sam took the coin from Petra and studied it, when he saw Maribel looking at him, eyes narrow, from the other side of the table. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing at all, just…” Maribel trailed off as the door to the cottage opened. A muscular, dark skinned man covered in illegible tattoos led a skinny, but charismatic woman with olive skin and auburn hair into the foyer. Corrine followed closely behind them and pulled the door shut.
“Now stop your whining and take your seats. Let me bring the meal to the table. Find your places, introduce yourselves.” Corrine excused herself as she moved through the dining room. The woman looked around the room with studious wonderment. The man, though, looked with frustration.
“There are coins marking your pla-” Robin began to explain, but the man cut him off.
“I know,” he said curtly. “Been here before. Zora, come sit down. The quicker we move this along, the quicker we can get out.”
Zora looked at him, moments away from snarking back in his direction, but thought better of it in front of the strangers. “Yeah, right there.”
The man picked up one of the coins, looked at it, and slammed it back on the table. “This one’s mine.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Zora asked him, keenly aware at the table of silent observers.
“Nothing.” The man unfolded his napkin and laid it over the metal coin.
“Too bad,” Zora said, watching. “I kind of like mine.” She flashed it to the table. “Little cloud with like… a lightning bolt trident on it. Looks good! I’m Zora, by the way.”
“It’s nice to see you again, Captain Dimitova.” Maribel’s voice was subdued, almost as though she was unwilling to be heard.
The captain did a double take when she noticed the priestess. “No way. Sister Maribel, you wench. What in Dorvan’s wake brings you here?”
The druid chief turned to look at Maribel with a smile. “You touch many lives, Sister. A woman woven in coincidence, it seems.”
The priestess perked up at the Chief’s word choice. “I, um… I appreciate fine clothwork,” she said, looking at the Chief with hopeful eyes.
Sam watched the Chief’s eye twinkle, but she turned to the man instead. “And may I ask your name, sir?”
“Cayd. That will do.”
“Cayd it is,” she said with a nod. “I am Mortal Chief Maplegrove.” The Chief introduced the rest of the table, one by one, pausing for effect at Robin and Petra. She expected Cayd to gasp or ask questions when she mentioned there was divinity at the table. But he did not seem to care or notice.
But Sam’s name got his attention.
“Corporal Samson Bleedingheart?”
“That’s right,” Sam replied. “Cayd, sir.”
“Please, none of that. I have heard a lot about you. I worked with a friend of yours.”
“To try and kill me,” Zora said with a wink.
“To try and intervene in your war against civilization,” Cayd corrected.
“May I ask who?” Sam asked.
“High Sergeant Enoch Boldbounty. He had nothing but good things to say about you. How you have overcome things.” Cayd gestured to the scar on Sam’s armor.
“That’s wonderful to hear,” Sam said, unable to control a grin at hearing good news about his mentor. “How is the High Sergeant?”
“Not getting a promotion for catching me,” Zora said.
“Zora, enough,” Cayd sighed.
“What, I can’t make conversation?”
“At least Captain Dimitova is honest about who she is, Minister.” Corrine’s voice entered the conversation suddenly and sharply, pulling everyone’s attention to the doorway to the cottage kitchen.
When everyone looked back to the table, it was spilling over with dishes of all types. A browned, roasted bird of some sort shared the center of the table with a crown of ribs. Small bowls and ramekins of starchy or vegetarian sides filled every bare spot of the table, and yet there was somehow still room for two overfull baskets of golden rolls.
“Let’s eat!” the goddess said cheerfully.
“So who is this world-ending woman?” Cayd asked, pressing the conversation.
“No!” Corrine barked. “You know the rules, Mister Zahid. No talking business over the meal!”
Petra nudged Sam as she reached for one of the bird’s drumsticks. “Watch carefully, Sammy.”