Which, I think, brings us just about back to where I started telling this originially.

  Regardless, it wasn’t long before there was a pounding at the door. Rin had been hopeful that my cries of anguish would be taken as cries of passion, but those had been a dew dream. Promising in the morn but fading under the light of scrutiny.

  “Sir, ma’am? Is everything alright in there?” a voice called from the hallway.

  This was it, I was doomed. Hadn’t even gotten to the first stop on my supposed journey. Though, given they weren’t using our names meant it was probably one of the Cauldron’s staff. Which provided the oddest form of comfort that it wasn’t a crew member who was going to find us first.

  “We can escape through the window,” Rin tried, still looking for a way out, her voice continuingly calm. It was odd how detached and calm she sounded while I was still struggling to string thoughts together.

  And besides, even if we made it out the window, where would we go? Everyone saw us come stairs together. Even if I left, managed to hide out somewhere until I was sober enough to shift back into a human, there’d still be questions once I reached the ship. And even the ship might not be safe.

  “Take the body, what remains of it, and dispose of it in the sea. You’ll be free to claim he ran away to join an acting troupe.”

  I silently laughed at the absurdity of that. There was no way I could easily carry Eninald’s remains through the streets. Especially without being seen. Not to mention I’d still have to make the trip with fox ears, which was just asking for trouble. And even if I managed to make it to the water, I had seen elves climbing out of the water, which meant that it was exceedingly likely that the bones would be discovered very quickly.

  “Being defeatist doesn’t help us survive the fallout from this.”

  And being short-sighted didn’t help either.

  I was struck for a moment by the sheer absurdity of arguing with a voice in my head next to the corpse of a man I had just lain with while people pounded at the door. This was a farce, a comedy. Or a tragedy. Something. I didn’t know what to make of this and so I found myself nearly laughing again.

  The bubbling giggles were quickly drowned out by the pounding continued.

  “Please open the door!” cried the person at the door and then quieter, “Go get the spare from Jonas.”

  Well, if they were getting a spare I definitely wasn’t getting up. They’d let themselves in and I’d be able to enjoy my last kedu of freedom in remorse and shock before someone discovered my…

  I paused, looking at the body again. I had done something here, but I was unable to call it what it was. The fact he was dead was apparent. The fact I had done it was too. I just couldn’t put those words together to describe the heinous act I had committed.

  Rin wasn’t so adverse. “Murder. You murdered him. Now get over yourself and get out of here before someone sees it and public consensus on whether you did turns from a strong hunch to an undeniable fact.”

  Maybe she was right. As long as there was doubt… I paused again looking at the remains of Eninald.

  Doubt? Hadn’t there been something about doubt and uncertainty when I talked to the Pale Lady. Time seemed to slow as I thought back. We had been talking. I had questions, but she said I only had time for one because…

  … because once I was confirmed dead, the opportunity for me to be sent back closed. As long as there was doubt about the death, then there was an opportunity. No one but me knew Eninald was dead. Was that uncertain enough?

  I didn’t know, but I knew that I needed something here. I couldn’t escape this otherwise and given that the Pake Lady was likely as invested in me surviving until I got to Freeport as I was, I didn’t see how trying could hurt. Wasn’t like I had any better ideas.

  “Pale Lady?” I tried before remembering that was only what I called her. “Death? Lady Death?”

  I felt absurd trying to talk to the representative of a fundamental truth of the universe, but something tugged at the edge of my senses. Something was happening.

  “Lady Death, if you’re here, I could do with some help.”

  “Please?”

  I had never prayed before, but I was beset with the feeling that I wasn’t quite doing it right. Granted, I’m not sure if there is a correct way to pray to a God while you were naked, sweaty, and paces away from the corpse of your lover.

  Former lover.

  “Nonsense,” Rin rebutted, her voice confident. “Had you done this with a sacrificial dagger, I’m sure there are plenty of Gods who would approve of this prayer.”

  I pushed her aside and tried again, “Please, Lady Death. I’m not sure how this is supposed to work, but I am seeking your guidance.”

  And then the world shifted.

  The pounding at the door slowed and dampened, the entire scene shifted into a gray scale. Uncertain, I raised my eyes and found a collection of color in the shape of a man standing over Eninald’s remains. His face was a mask of confusion. At first I thought that was his face, his choice of expression. Comically exaggerated but authentic. And then I noticed the thin line just in front of his ears and realized that it was literally a mask.

  It was then he noticed me. Or at least noticed me noticing him. He turned and passed a hand in front of his face. And when the hand had passed, surprise was shown on the mask. Just as exaggerated.

  I smiled politely, trying very hard not to think about how I was nude in front of this stranger. Carefully, I moved to cover myself before addressing him, “Um, hello.”

  The masked man flourished and bowed, setting the bells attached to his hat jingling. “My apologies madam. I didn’t not realize that Eninald’s soul had been claimed by another. I shall depart presently and leave you to your claim.” When he stood the confusion had been replaced with a neutral expression.

  I… what? Claimed? And how did he… I blinked in confusion and then rapidly set those thoughts aside for the more pressing concern. “No, no, don’t leave,” I quickly begged, “I’m seeking advice from the Gods.”

  The hand passed in front of his face again and then he was wearing a mask of confusion once again. “Are you not one of our Lady’s guides?”

  I shook my head in denial and then a bit more sharply to remove the hair that had been covering my collarbone. Embarrassed, I motioned to the Starmarks on my shoulder. “No, I’m not a guide. I’m something else,” I said before sheepishly adding, “Besides being confused.”

  Another pass revealing a mask of comprehension, “Ah. Of course. One of the Chosen.” He offered a hand and a smiling mask. “Though it falls outside my normal duties, I imagine I can, just this once, spare some time to assist a Chosen of the Gods.”

  “Afterall,” he added, bouncing upright. “It is my duty to guide. I had come here to guide Eninald, but since there is no soul to transport, I must imagine I have to be here to guide you.”

  There was a lot of questions that came to mind at this point, but my focus latched on to one in particular. “Okay,” I said, nodding, “But what do you mean that you don’t have a soul to transport?”

  Confused face. “You’ve claimed a soul but don’t know how you’ve done so?”

  There was a faint thud at the door. The first since the world shifted to gray. Right, limited time. Even when I had been talking to death originally, we had until the stones were cleared. Here, I would bet, it would be once the door opened. I gave the masked man a polite smile.

  “Perhaps we can discuss this as you lead me somewhere safe?”

  A neutral face. “But of course madam.”

  ************************************************************************************************

  My guide didn’t seem to be as restricted as the Gods were. I took a few beats to gather my clothes and dress. By the time I had finished the window had been replaced with a doorway leading out to a pathway cobbled together from books stretching through the sky. His face was smiling as he patiently waited for me to finish.

  I briefly considered trying to finish shifting so I could put on my boots, but then I overextended reaching for them and ended up sitting on the bed so I wouldn’t land on the floor. Glumly, I took my boots in one hand and, after a moment’s consideration, the white ball that had come from Eninald in the other. It was soft and fluffy to the touch, almost as if it was a ball of rabbit fur, and warm. With as much focus as I could manage, I stepped onto the trail of book covers and out into the city.

  While Thuvvik and I were traveling through the Wyrvwood, most of the bridges were short affairs without rails, crossing crossed creeks or small fissures. Places where it would be inconvenient, but not dangerous, to fall. The two larger bridges Thuvvik and I had crossed, one over the River Tho’mai and the other over an impressive ravine, had rails. They had been comforting given the perils of falling.

  The book bridge had no such support and I was stumbling over my own feet. The fall wasn’t that much, maybe twice my height, but it was enough that I was concerned. Not terrified, but this was definitely too much for my inebriated brain to handle. End result was me ending up arm in arm with the guide just to make sure I didn’t stagger to my second death. Once stability had been secured, I turned my attention to my guide.

  His mask was cheery, which seemed irreverent for a death guide, and his voice matched as he regarded me. “And what would you like to discuss? Art? Politics? Philosophy? Or perhaps civic reform? Or the history of the Runnan Empire?”

  Right, questions. No longer needing to focus on where I was walking, my brain was able to start weaving questions. Unfortunately, once my addled mind started at that, I was swiftly inundated with options. Who are you? What am I? What am I supposed to be doing? How does this bridge work? How long until I sober up? Why do people keep hitting on me? What is love? Who’s politics? How is my family doing? So many questions. And guiltily, none of the immediately thoughts were for Eninald and what had happened. I tried to think of one, just one, question about him, but all I got was a lurching in my stomach and helpless lost feeling.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Still, the Pale Lady had been impressed by my ability to ask the right question. Philosophical musings were easily cast aside, the knot that was my thoughts about Eninald was picked at, and the list was cropped down to five questions.

  In order of importance: How can I trust you? Where are we going? What happened with Eninald? What happened to his soul? How am I supposed to get to Freeport now?

  I wasn’t sure if I was impressed or concerned that I was able to think so coherently while I was literally stumbling about, but I pushed that aside. I had my list.

  “Right, then. Who are you and how do you know so much?”

  With a little dance and bow that nearly sent me tumbling, his mask turned into a neutral one and he spoke, “I am Gherardi, a humble psychopomp in service to the Lady, tasked with taking followers of Bernend, the God of Learning and Civilization. It is my job to know, inform, and entertain on the way to what comes after. Though,” he said his face swapping to amused, “I suppose your after is different than the usual. Still, that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t entertain.”

  I nodded, trying to remember what little about Bernend that I had learned from Eninald. There wasn’t much. Partially because he didn’t talk about his Faith much, but mostly because I didn’t particularly care about Gods. I had tried, very hard, to focus on what he had said but it just hadn’t caught my interest at all. Still, I was fairly certain that Gherardi had never been mentioned. Still. If, if, he was actually attached to Bernend that meant he was probably trustworthy given what I did recall about the God of Learning.

  I just had no way of knowing for sure that he was actually attached to Bernend. I didn’t have information to check against, the mask made it impossible for him to even have facial cues, and there was always the risk that whatever he was saying was a lie. I briefly considered asking more questions to get a feel for his trustworthiness, but ultimately decided that there was nothing he could say in this moment that would convince me of his identity. I’d have to circle back on this later. For now, I had other questions.

  “Where are we going?” was the next question on my list.

  With a bounce and a wave he motioned to a cavern ahead, “The Darkways of course. You said you wished to ask the Gods for advice and the Darkways are the only place you’ll be able to find that.”

  I blinked in confusion, “But won’t the dusk elves try to imprison me, for just being, well, me?”

  “Oh, oh no,” he said far too cheerily, “The Selvatin aren’t part of the Runnan Empire and condemn its imperialistic policies.”

  Well, that’s a lot of words and concepts to parse that also upset several long held notions. I had always heard that the Elfkin were all part of the “glorious” Runnan Empire and that you couldn’t trust an elf. Clearly that was wrong if an agent of the Gods — who had enlisted me to help them — was taking me to the dusk elves.

  “He’s dressed like a jester. He might be playing a trick on you. Flee.”

  I took a brief moment to regard the sharp drop to the cavern’s floor and the lack of nearby buildings, silently asking Rin where I would go. There wasn’t a response, which I knew there wouldn’t be given that I was ultimately arguing with myself.

  Still, she had a point. This single statement ran contrary to every bit of information I had ever learned. I wanted clarification. I wanted to ask more questions and explore this topic. I was curious and…

  I didn’t want to talk about what had happened to Eninald.

  Grimacing, I pushed aside the curiosity that was trying to insulate me from the uncomfortable conversation. Eventually we would reach our destination and while I had many questions, this might be the only chance I had to understand the nightmare I had just been part of.

  “What happened to Eninald?” I asked before feeling the need to clarify, “Why was his body so… withered? And what did you mean about me claiming his soul?”

  Bemused mask. “Is that one question or three?”

  I blinked, confused for a second. What did the number of questions have to do with anything? Unless, unless he could only answer a certain number of them? I had heard of mystically significant numbers, but only in derisive terms. More things to ponder.

  “One,” I offered hesitantly, hoping that chaining my questions would let me cheat whatever restrictions there may or may not be.

  Satisfied, he nodded and raised his left hand skyward, his voice taking on the tones of instruction and his mask stern, “You,” he declared with a slight hint of sarcasm and a dramatic pause, “are a kitsune. That much is readily apparent. But do you know what type of kitsune you are?”

  I almost responded with a question, but remembering my presumed limit, instead swallowed my words and shook my head.

  The mask remained unchanged, so his face couldn’t show it, but there was a faint hint of satisfaction in his voice, “In times gone by, there were different types of kitsune, differentiated by their magical abilities. As magic faded, so did those delineations. It has been many many years since any note about the difference between kitsune was noted in any text. But you are Starborn.”

  And being a Starborn was an opportunity to be what I was meant to be. What I would have been if magic hadn’t been fading from the world. And if I was just as magical as the Kitsune were generations ago, it would make sense that the differences, the delineations as Gherardi said, would be as pronounced as well.

  Carefully, I took the many questions I had forging in my mind and worked to change them into a statement. It took me several moments given the alcohol still hampering my brain, but eventually I was able to make it work. “I have never read about these delineations in my histories or any texts and am in need of explanation.”

  “Oh, of course madam,” Gherardi responded, the amusement very apparent this time. That—more than anything—confirmed there was an upper limit and more importantly amused Gherardi that we were. The mirth might fade, but for now I could cheat the rules to my gain.

  “You asked one question in the room before we started traveling, and, if he did count the questions about Eninald as one question, four since we started on the journey.”

  My gut told me that the journey is what mattered, so I had asked four questions. It would be a waste to ask how many questions I had left though. Instead, I focused on committing as much of the lecture to memory as possible.

  “The People,” he said with a slight stutter, as if he had changed his words at the moment. A correction, but from what? “Have never been particularly faithful, so most of my records are second hand. However, Lady Ahmos of Throven spent a good amount of time in the Wyrvwood and documented it. According to her, there are three types of kitsune.”

  I was slightly amused and almost offended that I had to learn of my own heritage from a recounting of a visitor to my homeland, but I wasn’t about to ask questions of crow’s gift.

  “The first,” Gheradi continued, “she documented as the Yako, the best transcription of Tho-myon she could manage. These were your common kitsune, the baseline. She referred to them as being primarily tricksters. Petty pranks and deceptions were the features she noticed most, particularly their abilities to weave illusions and weave charms upon people, fleeing when found out. However, when they were forced into direct combat they tended to conjure gouts of flame or bolts of lightning.”

  Lightning was something I hadn’t heard, or read before. The fact it was common enough to reach into second-hand histories suggested a natural affinity, or at least a cultural one. Curiosity bubbled back to the fore, but I didn’t say anything for fear of being impolite in interrupting.

  “The second were called the Zenko, again a transcription. They were protectors, guardians, and the group Lady Ahmos interacted with the most. She suspected they were nobles of a fashion. It was presumed, but not confirmed, that Zenko had all the abilities of the Yako with the additional magical abilities focusing on protection and guidance.”

  I had known for many years that nobles were more powerful than us, it was one of our earliest lessons that the might of the nobles are why they were in charge. We provided for them food and service and in exchange they protected us. How they were more powerful was always a question, but still a fact. The fact the uncertainty in their powers existed even in documentation was intriguing. There was a pause as we crossed through the lip of the caves leading into the Darkways.

  “Naturalistic barriers,” Gherardi explained before continuing on. Our pace seemed to slow, though whether that was because of the barrier or some other factor, I did not know. “The last Lady Ahmos never encountered, but heard the consequences of.

  In her journals, Lady Ahmos noted that she had previously been able to leave her estate and walk the town after sunset but that had changed recently. A disemboweled body had been found. The corpse was old and withered, but there were no old men missing. Only young men.

  All of them seen leaving local sake houses with a beautiful raven-haired kitsune who was almost universally described as beautiful. Conclusions were drawn, a bit hastily in Lady Ahmos’ opinion, that this woman had somehow drained the men. Stole their life and vitality from them.”

  I could feel myself pale, comparisons already drawn, conclusions wrought. Whatever this… third type of kitsune was, the effects were… Eninald.

  “She never heard it officially, but Lady Ahmos did hear fearful whispers amongst the court about the ‘Kumiho’.”

  I numbly nodded, my lips moving on their own. “Surely there were more than just a name in Lady Ahmos’s journals.”

  Gherardi paused and tapped his chin theatrically, “Lady Ahmos was very clear to note that her information after this point was gleaned from half-conversations and the inferences she made from them. Her hosts were very careful not to discuss the Kumiho around her, as if they were almost ashamed.”

  I nodded once more, slowly getting a picture of why I had never heard of these creatures before and why they hadn’t turned up in my research through the archives. Imardos was the descendant of a peasant village, too small to even have a noble house. If this was supposed to be a secret, why tell the commoners or let them keep records?

  “The Kumiho, she supposed, were seducers who would isolate others and then harvest their life force and, possibly, knowledge for personal power. The breadth of powers was undocumented.”

  My brain took a leap from the stories to the white ball I was still carrying. It was soft, plush, and still as white as driven linens. I thought I knew the answer, but I needed to know for sure. Arm trembling, I held the ball up.

  “And then what is this?” I asked quietly.

  “Five questions,” Rin counted.

  “Well,” Gherardi said slowly, “It would seem to be Eninald’s soul.” His face was a mask of tranquility, letting the implications speak for themself.

  Immediately, I tried to press the ball into Gherardi’s hands, “Take it back. Carry him, guide him, whatever!”

  Softly, but firmly, he cupped my hand with his and pushed it back to my chest. “Unfortunately Lady Starborn, I can’t. Eninald freely gave himself to you, and while you might not want that or intended for this to happen, I cannot defy the choice of a dead man.”

  Tears wrung my eyes, “But, but he’s an actor. He should be with you. Going, going where the dead go.”

  He shook his head, face a mask of sadness, “Rarely do things go as they should.”

  Defeated, I took the ball back. Part of me wanted to drop it, leave this burden of responsibility behind, but I couldn’t just let him go. The next question on my list seemed was about the journey ahead, but it seemed utterly unimportant given what I now knew. I wasn’t sure what to do with the ball that was Eninald and, honestly, I couldn’t deal with that right now. Carefully, I slipped the ball into my pocket.

  “Well, what do I do now?” I asked, but as I looked up I was alone. Frustrated and suddenly alone. Craving answers, I looked around. Behind me, the bridge of books had disappeared. Before me lay what seemed to be a dark room, presumably within the cavern and a wooden door at the end of the book path. Five questions seemed to be the limit. Five questions gone, and I didn’t know what to do. With Eninald or my journey. Gherardi had been helpful, but having that support provided and then suddenly ripped away left me more disoriented than before.

  And alone. All alone. It was enough to make me want to scream.

  And so I did.

  I screamed in frustration. I screamed in despair. I screamed because, through what seemed like an unending run of bad luck, I was alone again and didn’t want to be. If I hadn’t been alone, away from everyone, I would have never been able to consider this impropriety. I would have put these emotions aside and let them wither away and die. But here, alone? I could let them out.

  I screamed myself hoarse and I screamed until I cried. I don’t remember much of the transition, but when I came back to myself, there were tears streaking my face and I was curled in a ball. I didn’t want to move, I just wanted to give up this quest and go far away where I couldn’t hurt anyone or be hurt again.

  “But”

  But, I had chosen this life—made this deal and I had to live with the consequences, which, in this case, meant going through the door and finding a new way forward. And when it was done, I could go home or away, whatever seemed better at the time.

  I rubbed my eyes, cleaning myself as best as I could, before taking a few deep and calming breaths. “I can do this,” I said aloud, “No matter how bad this is, I’ve been through worse.” Death, death had been worse.

  Hadn’t it? Endless hunger, maybe I needed to reevaluate my worst.

  “Outside rare circumstances, death is final. No chance for anything after. By definition, it is worse than anything that you survive.”

  I laughed at that. A bitter and dry laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. A small comfort that I didn’t really want, but took.

  Because she was right. No matter how bad it was, I was alive and could do something with the experience. And so, with forced cheer and a determination to survive this and whatever came next, I turned the handle and stepped forward to the next phase of my journey.