Azela Incarnate

For a time, they just wandered among the outer buildings, getting a general layout of the village. These were simpler than the colorful, serpentine towers in the village's center.

The streets were laid in a pattern that seemed like a random tangle at first. Then, after some exploration, Catherine recognized it as a series of sigils. Whether it was an artistic design choice or if the streets themselves could actually be used as part of some massive ritual, she couldn't say.

Symbols were everywhere, both magic and not. They were carved into places like door and window frames, walls, and posts. Some were painted like graffiti over bricks and concrete. They did not study them too closely.

Azela noted that, unlike MegaGlitch's tavern, these wooden structures were well-made, built by people who knew how to build with wood. They also lacked the sense of improvisation of Jastria's huts.

Catherine moved half a pace ahead, as she tended to. Her hand was not on the odachi, but stayed near it.

The village center was always visible above the rooflines; towers that curved in strange organic arcs, enormous against the night sky. Nothing stirred. Lamps were lit, but they assumed magic was involved there. They saw no one tending to them.

The quiet held until a man came sprinting around a corner ahead of them. He was clutching something to his chest with both arms. Behind him, closing fast, came what seemed to be a watchman, slowed by the bronze armor he wore. This one held a raised staff covered in glowing sigils.

Catherine ducked behind a stack of barrels. Azela followed her lead.

The man ran past without seeing them. The watchman was perhaps twenty paces behind, moving like someone who knew they would catch their quarry eventually. The staff's glow brightened as they passed, and they could hear its wielder struggling to chant something despite being out of breath.

Then the manhole cover in the middle of the street erupted into the sky.

As the metal disk spun into the dark, two thick, green tentacles rose from the sewer. They moved with horrible speed, the first catching the watchman around the waist and lifting him easily.

"No! Not me! Him!" he commanded.

The staff clattered to the ground. Its glowing sigils darkened. The watchman made only one more sound: a short, strangled gurgle. His armor was much louder as it bent under the pressure.

The second tentacle caught the thief by the ankle mid-stride. He fell with a panicked shout. His cargo fell from his grip.

Azela gave her companion a look. Catherine drew her sword.

The glitch crossed the distance, caught the thief by the wrist, and pulled. The tentacle pulled harder. She braced her foot against the cobblestones and held her ground, but had to be careful not to tear the man's arm off.

Catherine finally caught up and sliced the slimy thing off of him. There was a muffled screech from below as it retreated underground.

The tentacle that held the watchman had already twisted him into a new shape and dragged him halfway into the sewer. It vanished with him into the darkness. The sound of twisting metal and snapping bones echoed from below.

Azela stared at the opening for a moment. Catherine put a hand on her shoulder and gently pulled her back. Then they turned to the man they had rescued.

He was sitting on the cobblestones, getting his breath back and patting his chest and arms as though making sure all of him was still there.

"Thank you," he said.

"What did you steal?" Catherine asked.

He gave her a smile as he reached over to pick up the cloth bag he had been carrying. "From the tower of Gorinok himself, on the east side." He opened the bag and proudly displayed his prize: plain rocks in a pile of dust.

He stared at them.

His expression moved through several stages of grief.

"Damned wizards!" he cursed. "I knew those jewels were too good to be true!"

He turned the bag over, shook it, then tucked it into one of his many pockets. "Every damn time! You can't make an honest living as a thief in this village!" He got to his feet and dusted off his knees, then looked back at the sewer opening. "At least there's one less of them in the world. I'll find another tower."

After handing something to Catherine, he walked off down the street with his hands in his pockets, moving like a man who had somewhere to be.

"What is that?" Azela asked.

Catherine watched him go, then looked at the paper in her hand. "It just says, 'I owe you.'"

Azela looked back at the open sewer. "Let's keep moving, quickly."

Catherine picked up the watchman's staff from where it had fallen and looked it over. Other than the darkened sigils, it was unremarkable. She began to set it back down, then changed her mind and carried it with them as they moved on.

* * *

Some time later, Catherine came to a stop in front of a house made of paper and very thin wood. From the outside it looked like something between a lantern and a dwelling, with faintly translucent walls that the light within pressed against. The whole structure glowed with a soft warmth. It was in no way poorly made, and in truth gave the appearance of being sturdier than the crumbling brick house beside it. "What was the name of Lance's friend again?" she asked.

"I think it was Phoenix, why?"

Catherine pointed at the metal bird silhouette placed on the doorway, then walked up to it and traced the symbol beneath it with her finger. "Because this is the Rune of the Phoenix. I wonder if she really is a mythical bird or if she's just obsessed with it." She touched the paper door and smiled. "With a flammable house like this, I doubt she's a real phoenix."

"Should we knock?"

Still touching the thin surface, Catherine said, "I think our hands would tear through the door if we did that. Besides, 'tis late. We should come back tomorrow."

"Then where would you sleep tonight?" came a sweet, melodic voice beside them. "I can tell you're not from here, and it's a bit late for a room at the inn."

They had jumped and turned toward the voice. A woman was hanging out of a window that neither of them knew was there.

"Sorry to startle you." The newcomer ran her fingers through her short, fiery red hair. "I'm Phoenix. Guess you're looking for me." She leaned back and the window vanished as it closed. They could hear her as she moved toward the door and slid it open. "I had a feeling I should stay up late. Come inside."

They did, and found the inside almost as stunning as the village itself. Jewels and feathers of all different colors and shapes covered the walls. The lamplight caught every surface and threw it back multiplied, so that the room sparkled brilliantly. Catherine left the staff and her sword by the door, then she and Azela helped themselves to the soft, comfortable couch, leaving Phoenix the throne-like chair.

Catherine stared at the puzzling stairway that apparently led to a second floor, but seemed improbable, since both the stairway and the ceiling were made of paper.

Azela leaned forward. "So you're Phoenix? Nice to meet you!"

"Always a pleasure to meet new friends, if friends you be," Phoenix said. "Are you with Tao's crew?"

"I'm Azela, and this is Catherine. We be friends. We weren't formally of Tao's crew, but we were traveling with them. Lance wanted us to deliver a message, but..."

She looked down, preparing to deliver the bad news. Catherine spoke before she could.

"The ship met a horrible end in a storm. Lance didn't survive. I don't think many others did, either. We escaped, but with no ship to sail on, we became stranded on an island. If it wasn't for the mermaids that rescued us, we'd be dead as well."

Phoenix was silent, and her visitors gave her time to process the loss of her friend. The jewels on the walls seemed to sparkle a little less. Finally, she said, "The least I could do is give you a place to stay for the night. If not for you, he would have just disappeared from my life with no explanation."

"I'm sorry," Catherine said.

Phoenix shook her head. "Death usually comes when you don't expect it, and all your plans and hopes for the future mean nothing when it does."

* * *

After talking for a few more minutes, Phoenix retrieved two mats and some pillows and blankets for them, amazingly, from somewhere upstairs. She told them they could see Tisha and talk more in the morning, then turned and climbed the stairs again without another word, leaving them to settle in for the night.

They placed their mats on the floor beside each other and lay there as the room settled into silence. Soon, though, the silence was broken by shifting fabric and restless movement. One would shift, then the other, as though they were passing the discomfort between them. Azela rolled onto her side with a quiet sigh, drawing her blanket tighter before turning again moments later. Across from her, Catherine stared into the darkness above as sleep remained frustratingly distant.

Azela sat up. "I can't believe I miss sleeping on sand."

"I never realized that paper could be so unyielding," Catherine said.

Azela looked over to her. "I was thinking, instead of using these sleeping mats individually, we could pile them atop each other. Along with one of the blankets, it would be quite a bit cushier. We'd have to share the space, though." Catherine didn't respond. Azela waited, watching her. "You know it would be more comfortable."

Catherine pushed herself upright as well. "It might be uncomfortable in other ways."

"Don't." Azela's voice was quiet but firm. "I'm sick of us drifting apart. Could we just let us be whatever we are and not even think about it? You want to hold me as much as I want to hold you. The distance growing between us hurts as much as trying to sleep on this damn floor."

Catherine exhaled slowly. "Alright, let's do this. I'm too tired to argue."

She stood up. The room was lit only by a faint ambient glow filtering through the walls and curtains.

Then she noticed something on a shelf she hadn't seen before.

She crossed to it and froze. There was a small painting of Phoenix, positioned beside someone who bore a strong resemblance to someone she knew.

"It can't be," she said.

"What's wrong?" Azela asked. She had already finished combining their mats and blankets.

Catherine didn't answer immediately. Her gaze stayed fixed on the small painting. The figure beside Phoenix was rendered with more detail than would be possible for most artists; magic had been used in one form or another. That made it harder for her to dismiss the resemblance. "That's Rachael," she said at last.

Azela adjusted her stance to see what she was looking at. "Are you sure?"

"No. But it looks just like her."

"She meant a lot to you," Azela said.

Catherine's voice tightened. "She was my first love. Before everything. Before the scars, even."

Azela moved to her side. "You never talk about her."

Catherine's breath hitched and she turned slightly away. "I thought I was done with these emotions," she said, wiping her eyes. "I really thought I was past it. I was so sure that I would never see her face again."

Azela wrapped her arms around her. "We'll ask Phoenix about it in the morning."

After a moment, Catherine leaned into her. "If nothing else, she might know if she's still among the living."

They returned to the mats. The warmth of the combined blankets settled around them as they settled into each other. The village outside began to stir with the coming dawn, yet they soon drifted into a slow but comfortable sleep.