Listen, and let the people tell their tales.

Listen, and let the story-tellers weave their magic.

Listen, and let the stories be told.

Letters about them

The journey by ship from Leuda to Port Tipa takes roughly four days, not accounting for bad weather or other inconveniences. From the port, it's another day by foot until one finally reaches the village of Tipa.

On the ship that arrived at the port that evening there were only three passengers: two Lilty travellers that were returning from the Kilanda isles with their bags full of ores, and a Selkie from Leuda who had spent the last day of the journey sleeping on his hammock.

The bell that signalled their arrival rang, waking him up with a start. The Lilty men chuckled at his clumsy attempts of getting down the hammock without tripping, but they ended up having to ask for help to carry their many bags. The Selkie picked up his own small rucksack and fastened a red bandana on his head before helping them.

Outside, the last of the sun's light was fading, and there was a slight chill in the air. On the shore near the rock wall and the beginning of the up-hill trail there was a large tent, which was where the Lilties signalled the Selkie to put the bags.

"Now, don't think about running off without paying, Nor!" Tristan, the Lilty captain, called from the deck to the Selkie, who was already on the shore and in a convenient spot to make a run for the road. Nor Lit glanced back and grinned cheekily.

Under Tristan's careful watch, the three passengers carried bag after bag to the tent until they were finally done. Having finished helping the other two, Nor Lit returned and paid fifty gil, which surprised Tristan.

"You know, I charge extra for the tent. You're not staying the night?"

"Nope." the Selkie grinned. "I want to get to Tipa as soon as possible, and by daylight, preferably. Why do you think I spent the whole day sleeping?"

Tristan shrugged. "Because you're weird, perhaps. Either way it's not my business, so just be careful out there." He pointed in the general direction of the cliff with his thumb, turning to go back to the steering wheel.

The Selkie patted the racket that hung from his waist and bid the captain farewell. He stopped by the tent to light a lantern, and then was on his way up the trail and onto the main road. Tristan caught a glimpse of him as he went out of sight, farther south, and only saw the orange light of the lantern bobbing in the distance as if it was a spectre floating away into the night.

Nor walked at a fast, steady pace. The air was fresh, and smelled of wet grass; probably a light spring rain that had fallen not so long ago.

The trail climbed up a hill and then forked to the north and to the south. The south route was one of the few roads Nor was less familiar with, but he remembered how it ran through a ridge of mountains and hills and that at some point it passed along the edge of a cliff from where River Belle was visible below. When he reached that place, well past midnight then, he couldn't see the river, as it was hidden by a canopy of trees and darkness, but he could hear it and know he was half way up to Tipa.

Next, the road curved away from the river and it was close to the ocean again. Still high in the mountains, the wind blew strong and from there he could see the forest extend to the shore, where the moonlight reflected on the crashing waves. The road stayed like that for most of the way, until it curved inwardly again, where it met the forgotten, closed off entrance to river Belle Path. That was the only moment he was wary, but luckily he didn't encounter any goblins on the main road. At one moment a large figure flew before the moon, but it dived back into the forest and never showed up again.

It would only take three more hours to reach the village after that point, but Nor's eyelids felt heavy as he walked, and his head dropped to the side every once in a while. Deciding not to embarrass himself by falling asleep the moment he reached Tipa, he stopped walking before dawn broke and searched for a good tree to climb and sleep on for a while. He'd reach Tipa in the afternoon; he needed to rest now.

xXx

"One day, this Moogle comes flying from the desert, no?" His father told Nor Lit, as he and some of his father's friends gathered around their dining table. "Turns out the guy had been injured during a fight with the Antlion, and is lying in the myrrh tree's chamber in the brink of death. We had to help him, 'cause, y'know, he's one guy and has nobody to fall back on."

As the sky outside darkened, the light of the lanterns hanging on the walls strengthened. The wind howled, and the sound of the waves rang strong, vaguely reminding Nor that his mother was outside, watching over his baby brother as he played near the sea.

"There was a bit of an argument, though, remember?" interrupted Li Seth, an old man who had been a caravanner during Nor's father's youth. "'Cause it would be pretty damn dangerous, even with me in the search party," his friends booed him for his cockiness, but he continued undeterred. "So a bunch of people said to let the guy there; not like Tipa's doomed, just send a letter to the village and they churn out a replacement."

"…Harsh." was Nor's only comment.

"But then this foreign girl steps up and gives those people a piece of her mind and then sends out this Lilty soldier out to lead the way, so those of us with, you know, a heart, set out for the guy and get him back."

"And boy was he injured! I mean, every caravanner comes roughed up from the desert, but this was something else," a man named Mel Dah commented. "You treated him, didn't you, Zeh Gatt?" He said, speaking to Nor's father.

The man nodded gravely, scratching his beard. "We were pretty amazed at the fact he had survived at all, but we guessed he had had the chance to use at least some cure spells in time." Zeh Gatt said before taking a long gulp of ale.

"So he stayed here, in the village?" Nor asked.

"Yes, for a while, at the elder's tent. The princess took care of him too."

"…The what?"

"Yeah, the princess," Li Seth laughed, "Turns out that foreign girl was the princess. You know, from Alfitaria?"

"Dow Hatty hasn't been the same since she left." Said Mel Dah, shaking his head in pity.

"Anyways, how was he like? Was there anything, ah, peculiar you noticed?" Nor Lit asked after a moment, looking at his father specifically.

"I don't know, he was unconscious most of the time," Zeh Gatt shrugged. "Got a fever and everything, and when he was finally cured, he had to hurry out."

"Caravanner's duty." Li Seth concluded solemnly, and began telling one of his own caravan stories.

.

Stories about Tipa's caravan were few and far between. Sure, every merchant had their tales, and other caravans would always talk and compare to the other caravans they met on the road, but all around, the Clavat man seemed to be one of the least outstanding caravanners. Fum's caravan had described him as a Clavat to the bone, which did nothing to make him look any more exciting. Still, when asked, one Lilty caravanner from Marr's Pass had made it clear that the man liked being a caravanner, despite his peaceful attitude, and that he was good at it.

Those Lilties seemed to be fond of him, but when Nor asked Amidatty, the Yuke huffed and looked away in indignation, quickly changing the subject, so there had gone Nor Lit's most reliable source of information.

But caravan stories were not the reason Nor Lit had taken a sudden interest in Tipa's caravan.

After the end of the era of miasma, and after the celebrations died down, he had set out for answers again, just like every other scholar in the world. Unlike every other scholar, though, he had Adamanta.

"You know, Nor," the Yuke girl said one day they had been in Shella's library, going through old tomes in search for somewhere to start. "Nobody's asked the caravanners."

"Hmm?" His sight didn't leave the book he was going through.

"Nobody has asked the people who were more concerned with miasma. I mean-" she paused and stared at her friend, until he finally noticed and put the book down to pay attention to her. "They may not be the wisest or scientific people, but they're…they were always there, you know, in the middle of it all. Do you understand?"

"I think I do, yeah. But Amidatty was a caravanner, and everybody is swarming around him and asking to their hearts content," he almost went back to reading the book, but Adamanta leaned in closer.

"True, but Amidatty is not the only one," She was almost laughing, and so close Nor Lit thought he could see the eyes behind the mask. "Nor, I've been thinking about it so much; I've told you before, haven't I?- that it's worth listening to other caravans' tales. Don't you think they might say something they don't realize is important? Someone could compile accounts, even. You could be the first one to do it!"

After a pause, Nor Lit smirked. "No, you want me to be."

She finally backed away, folding her large, strange hands on her lap and looking away. "True." She admitted in resignation. Nor couldn't help but laugh.

It wasn't a bad idea, and after some thought he agreed, to Adamanta's delight. They weren't getting anywhere researching old books or learning about geology, anyways. Unluckily for the Yuke girl, she was still too young, so she had to stay behind.

Since Alfitaria was closest, he started there, but his efforts to contact the former caravanners came to nothing. Most of them worked in the castle now, while at least one had moved away. Interviewing the elder was out of the question, since the elder was, well… the king. The trip to Alfitaria wasn't all a waste, though. As Nor Lit was about to head out, he met with an old friend: the merchant Gi Lubeh.

A man now entering old age, Gi Lubeh was still the most active merchant around. He bragged that most caravanners had depended on him for crafting materials and trading, and about how this paid very well. Nor Lit himself had run errands for him when he was short on money.

Another thing he bragged about was his knowledge of the comings and goings of about nearly everyone. Big cities, small towns, roadside camps; he'd sold something at every place at some point, and most of the time he'd lingered long enough to learn a little piece of information. The man told the best stories around Leuda's campfires.

The two Selkies headed out of Alfitaria in Gi Lubeh's caravan, since they were both headed to Marr's Pass. When Nor Lit told him about his plans, Gi Lubeh insisted that Nor Lit skipped the Pass and go directly to Fum. In one of his recent travels, he'd heard the town's Elder talking about something that happened a few weeks after the day miasma disappeared: one caravan had passed through Fum, coming from Rebena Plains- the last caravan on the road, apparently, since nobody had seen it since the beginning of the year.

"He thought the caravan was just stalled- maybe it hadn't even realized miasma was gone," Gi Lubeh said over a campfire near the road, the embers between him and Nor Lit casting a mysterious light on the man's face. "But two things were weird about it: their chalice was empty; yet," he paused for effect, "It had been the first one to go through Fum that year.

"Still nobody thinks anything's off about that. But I remember- I remember what you told me once: that there are things beyond Rebena plains. Secrets, guarded by miasma. And I wonder, how right you were…and who else knew."

xXx

From across the bridge, the miller and her daughter stopped working to watch as the stranger entered their village. Other people did the same, while others either ignored him or stopped to politely welcome Nor Lit to Tipa.

The town was abuzz with preparations for what he knew was the crystal festival. Every town and city still remembered the day their caravan returned, except now they didn't have to see it depart again. Leuda's festival had happened a few days ago, with all the flare and extravaganza one would expect from a town full of Selkies, and he had heard Alfitaria's festival was actually a great ball at the castle. It seemed that these new festivals had even more joy to them than the old ones, maybe because they weren't brief reunions and goodbye parties any more, solemn in the fact that if people didn't celebrate them, they would die. Now they were, in a way, celebrations of memories, of survival, and life.

In Tipa there were colorful decorations hanging from the tree branches, the lanterns and torches were already set, chimes hung over every door and flower ornaments were place along the street. The festival would be in a day and a half.

In the town square, around their crystal, a group of people were putting up pole lines with triangle shaped flags on them, and others were joining small tables together to make one big banquet table. A Lilty family of blacksmiths were preparing pots and pans and setting chairs in front of their house. An old Clavat lady stood by the crystal as she supervised the preparations. Just who he needed, and he hadn't even had to look too much for her. He approached the woman, tapping her on the shoulder and bowing as he introduced himself.

"My, a visitor," she said, smiling and taking a good look at the much taller man before her. "You're early for the festival. Come, follow me."

Her name was Malayde, the Elder's wife, and she'd take him to see her husband. In small towns it was considered polite to meet the Elder first and state one's purpose of visit. Their house was the one right behind the crystal and the largest one in town. She guided him up a flight of stairs outside the house, explaining that Roland was taking a break from all the stress of preparing the festival.

Indeed, the old Clavat man was sitting comfortably on a chair near a window, reading. The room was full of shelves replete with books thick and thin, and mystical artifacts that didn't work anymore and just served as decoration. On the right side of the room there was the kitchen. A kettle was set on the stove, quietly puffing up vapor.

Roland lifted his sight when he heard the door open, and closed the book with a loud thud.

"This is Nor Lit, from Leuda." Malayde said as her husband stood up to greet the Selkie. Both men bowed to each other. He had to be one of the oldest Clavats Nor Lit had seen, and tiredness showed in his eyes. Yet his posture -straight, dignified- and his voice showed no trace of being burdened by weariness and time.

"Our most sincere welcome. Leuda is a far away place to come from just to enjoy our festival, especially for a stranger," the man noted, tilting his head to the side. "Am I mistaken, or do you have other business here?"

He's sharp, Nor Lit thought. "I'm an alchemist, Sir; a researcher. I'm conducting an investigation on the disappearance of miasma, and I'm collecting accounts from the last caravans on the road."

"So you wish to speak to ours," Roland said, more a statement than a question.

"Yes, if it's possible."

The old Clavat closed his eyes, considered it for a second, and nodded. When he opened his eyes, he was looking at his wife, who was laughing softly.

"Arion is going to be so happy," she said cheerily before turning and exiting the room.

Nor Lit looked quizzically at the elder, who was also stifling a laugh. Then he cleared his throat and clarified, "Arion is Toto's father. Nobody's paid much attention to our former caravanner, but Arion has always been proud of his son. Malayde's gone to fetch him, so come sit for a moment."

Although nervousness was beginning to creep up on him, Nor Lit followed the man to the window, where there was a stool close to the larger chair. He sat there and watched as the Clavat went to fetch the kettle and make some tea. As he waited, a question began troubling him, making him bite his lip in confusion, until he finally blurted it out:

"Toto?" he asked, his voice maybe a pitch higher than usual. That was not the name he had heard, and now he worried that he'd searched for the wrong person somehow.

Roland laughed loudly this time, the teacups he carried shaking dangerously. "Yes, Toto. His name is Thomas, but that name has been all but forgotten. Nobody minds- he doesn't mind; it's just the way it's always been." He put the cups on the windowsill and sat down on his chair, from where he observed the Selkie in front of him a little more.

Nor Lit thought about apologizing, but he chose to choke his embarrassment with a large gulp of tea- the hotness of the liquid be damned.

"Anyways, a Selkie alchemist is not something you see everyday," Roland commented.

"We're few, but we do exist," Nor shrugged, relieved that the elder wasn't offended. "Everyone in my family is an alchemist, for example."

Some minutes passed during which they just talked. Roland asked for news from the other towns and cities, and seemed to be genuinely interested in the investigations about the disappearance of miasma. But like most conversations about that topic often did, it turned into anecdote telling, and the Elder had many. So Nor listened, because apparently he was a good listener. Adamanta had said it so.

"It's freeing," he said, looking contemplatively out the window. "I saw many caravans come and go, but now I see the children of my village and don't have to worry about which one of them is going to be the next child we'll send into peril. Which one of them is going to carry the burden of our lives on their backs. Now," he smiled then, gesturing with his hand towards the window and the scenery beyond, where behind the trees a part of the sea and the horizon could be seen. "Now the world is theirs; all of it, not just the parts under the shadow of the crystal."

For a moment, Nor Lit thought about his baby brother, and he couldn't help but smile too. Then he thought about someone else, and his smile faded. The shadow of the crystal indeed.

"Now tell me," Roland spoke again, snapping Nor out of his thoughts. "Is it really important, to us, as people, to figure out the mystery of miasma?"

Nor Lit locked his gaze with the man's, unsure of what he meant, but his features showed nothing more than true curiosity. "Well… if we figure this out, then maybe we could prevent future tragedies," he stammered for a simple answer, but then decided to be sincere. "But for me it's personal."

Roland accepted the answer with a nod. There was a knock on the door, and the old man went to answer, muttering, "That must be him," on the way. Nor Lit stood up, clutching the strap of his rucksack tightly.

The door opened to reveal another Clavat man, much younger than Roland but still in the third age. Judging by that, Nor Lit knew he wasn't Thomas. But the man had such a broad, enthusiastic smile on his face that it wasn't a stretch to imagine he was his father; he introduced himself as Arion, too, which helped

Introductions were made, and instead of bowing like usual Arion shook Nor Lit's hand eagerly and without warning and asked him to follow him- he'd get him to Toto, once he figured out where the ex-caravanner was.

They stepped out of the house and down the road, all the while Arion asking questions and talking about the festival that was to come. Nor Lit listened only in parts, and answered briefly when it was needed, but his mind was elsewhere.

He'd spent the last few months preparing for this, even if he knew it might all come to nothing. He'd been close to the site of the 'Swell', as people now called the explosion-like event that preceded the disappearance of miasma; he'd seen the ring of light stretch from horizon to horizon- he'd breathed that first gasp of fresh air. It was hard to imagine a mere human could have done that- whatever it was that had been done, if there had been something to be done at all.

Maybe in the end it was just a natural phenomenon as everyone supposed. But Nor had this little set of clues that lead to this one person, and in the vow he'd unconsciously taken -to look for answers his own way- he was following them, more a hunch than complete conviction in the end result.

The afternoon was warm and the village was filled with the noise of the people working, the smell of burning wood… and the sound of the sea. It was faint, far below, but it reminded Nor Lit of home. He felt a little more at ease.

Arion guided him past a shop and the farm, to a house off the road, next to the river. Its roof was covered with grass and in front of it there were magicite-powered tin refrigerators and an old cow grazing peacefully. On the other side of the river there was another house, modest looking, built in a small space between the shore and a rock wall. There was a sewing wheel on the narrow front yard, and large pieces of fabric hung from the windows.

Arion signalled him to wait a moment as he approached the bridge between the house, then he called, "Korina!" and waited. He called the woman's name again until finally a window opened on the upper floor and a Clavat woman with shoulder-length blonde hair peered through. She cupped her hand to her ear so as to hear better and Arion continued, "Where's Toto?"

She lowered her hand, threw a glance towards Nor Lit, and for the shortest of seconds glared at him. Before the Selkie could be sure of it, though, she'd turned her attention back to Arion and answered, "Up the river; where you were yesterday, I think."

"Thanks!" Arion said as Korina closed the window and retreated back into the house without so much of a second glance. He turned to Nor Lit and asked, "Do you want to wait here while I bring him, or are you up for a little trip up river?"

Nor Lit smiled and nodded, pointing in the direction of the river, so Arion signalled him to follow again. They rounded the house to go into a rocky trail along the shore. It was a narrow, tricky path (at least for Arion. Nor Lit breezed over the rocks and gaps with ease.), but it was fresher there than in the village; the wind rustled the trees, and the clean smell of the river filled the air. Arion briefly commented that before, they wouldn't have been able to get that far out.

Finally, they turned a corner and arrived at a large natural pool.

You could normally tell if somebody had been a caravanner: they always seemed out of place even in the most mundane of situations. Maybe it was the scars, or the haunted looks on those who'd seen the worst of it, or simply the inability to adapt to common, everyday life after all those long years of living in a world that did not forgive.

Thomas was there, sitting on a canoe while fishing, looking more like a ghost than merely haunted. There was a scar on his bare back that ran from his right shoulder to his side, twisting and knotting skin as it went- an ugly reminder of a fight with the Antlion, no doubt. He still wore several magicite rings, probably more out of habit than of need, and the headband on his forehead had runes for quicker spell casting inscribed on it.

The Clavat looked up when his father called him, and there was another scar on the corner of his lip that got stretched out when he smiled.

"Get over here!" Arion said cheerfully. "This is Nor Lit; he wants to talk to you."

Thomas nodded, taking a moment to observe the Selkie curiously. "Wait a second," he said. He put the fishing rod away and began rowing towards the shore. Once there, he threw a rope to Arion, who with the help of Nor Lit pulled the canoe the rest of the way.

"Hello," Thomas said, clumsily stepping out of the canoe. He whipped his hands on the sides of his pants before casually extending one to Nor Lit, who shook it awkwardly. "I don't- Um, it's been a while since we got any visitors."

"I didn't mean to bother! I should've sent a letter, now that I think about it," Nor Lit began, but Arion and Thomas quickly reassured him it was ok. "The thing is, I'm interviewing former caravanners-"

"He's an alchemist," Arion piped in. His son signalled him to calm down.

"To gather information about the disappearance of miasma. I figured that since Tipa's festival is approaching, it'd be convenient for you."

Thomas nodded. "Yeah, that seems about right."

"Nothing formal, I swear," he continued, "Mostly I'm focusing on the time prior and after the end of the era miasma, but anything that you noticed along your journey could help. I heard you were close to the site of the Swell when it happened-"

Thomas' eyes widened ever so slightly, as if telling Nor Lit to shut up before he said anything else he shouldn't. Or maybe just in anticipation of Arion's surprised exclamation.

"Hey, you didn't tell us that!"

Thomas paused, unblinking, then turned and said, "I…I got stalled; nothing important. Hey, dad, why don't you take the boat back to the house?" He quickly changed the subject, grabbing the rope from the floor and handing it to his father. "Don't let the catch spoil."

"But-"

"C'mon, it'll be late by the time I'm done. I mean," he turned hastily to Nor. "If you don't mind staying here…"

"I came all the way here," Nor shrugged. "It's calmer than in the village, no?"

"Exactly. So…dad," he held the rope up to his father, who begrudgingly took it and hopped on the boat.

"Ok, fine, just because your mother will get mad if she thinks I'm goofing off. Again." Arion grumbled, but there was still a smile on his face as he threw Thomas' shirt to him before pushing the boat away from the shore and beginning to row back.

Nor Lit stifled a laugh; Thomas' shirt had hit him square on the face, and he had to fumble with it to get it off and back on himself. He waited, setting his rucksack down and sitting on a rock. It took a moment for Thomas to turn around and face him, his hands balled into fists as he swung them slightly by his sides.

"I'm not a scientist," he spoke. "My job was to slay monsters and gather myrrh. Survive. I-I don't think I can be of much help to you."

"I think you can." Nor Lit said simply, resting his elbows on his knees. "I've spoken with nearly all the other caravanners, and other people about it- about the disappearance of miasma. And let me tell you, it is not- I haven't been asking questions so much as listening, because each and every one of them has a million stories to tell. And it's not about the questions I or any other researcher has, it's about the answers people have."

He paused to gather about his wits, wondering if Thomas had the patience to hear him through. He looked up to see the Clavat had crossed his arms over his chest, and standing, he loomed over Nor Lit, casting a long shadow over him. The light from above obscured his features.

"Go on." Thomas said. If Nor Lit squinted, he could see the other bore a curious frown, waiting for the Selkie to finish.

Nor sighed and stood, running a hand over the bandana on his head. "On-the-field research is impossible right know. Even though we know where the Swell occurred, the miasma stream beyond Rebena plains still hasn't cleared," he looked back slightly as if one could see the stream from there. "So we have nothing left to do but to turn to books and scriptures to try and figure out what could have caused it. What brought miasma into this world, and if it died or ran out, or what existed before miasma came that…suddenly came back or something. Look, we don't know."

That was a laugh for both of them. "So you guessed that somebody out there had the answer." Thomas said.

"Nah, I didn't. I've always kept to the laws of nature and such…" he cleared his throat. "A third party suggested I collect these accounts from caravanners, and I think in the end it bore results. You see, some of the information I collected mentioned you. At first glance it's not much, but when you add it up there's something curious about it."

"…How come?" The smile was off Thomas' face, slowly replaced by a completely serious look that Nor Lit wasn't sure meant incomprehension as much as caution.

The Selkie looked away again. Now came the part he had been nervous about all this time. "It's weird, coming here to do this, but to be frank I do have a question for you." It was definitely not a passive expression that on the Clavat's face, and the mood was beginning to feel heavier. Or maybe it was just Nor Lit's idea. "Let me explain first,"

The Clavat nodded sceptically. Nor Lit began. "I know you were the last caravan to pass through Fum; the Elder and a lot of people confirmed it. What makes it curious is that you were also the first. Now, I was with Shella's caravan the day the Swell happened, and had been travelling with them, so I know they'd claimed the myrrh from Daemon's Court, and that the tree in Selepation Cave was, according to their records, dry since the year before. Meaning, you had gone into Rebena Plains." He paused. "If what you wanted was to gather myrrh. But your chalice was empty when you came back."

"Listen, I-" Thomas' began suddenly, but Nor Lit interrupted him.

"Please, let me finish. You'll understand why I'm saying all this crazy talk that way," Nor Lit said, thinking the Clavat had every right to be annoyed. But why couldn't Clavats look angry when they should? It would make things easier if they didn't always hide behind a mask of calmness. "That year, neither I nor Shella's caravan made it past the fields of Fum, but my village's caravan did; we crossed paths near Daemon's Court, around…two weeks after you had passed, if my math is right. So I wrote to Dah Yis about the last drops of myrrh they'd collected- the chalice is in our Elder's tent, and it's still two thirds filled; I remembered that, and asked him, and he confirmed that they'd gotten the drops from Conall Curach and Rebena Te Ra."

"I can explain."

"They didn't see you," Nor Lit's tone was almost accusing. "You should have been there, should have already taken a drop of myrrh from either of the trees. In two weeks you can cross the plains and come back again."

But Thomas was shaking his head, looking down and biting his lower lip. Coldly, Nor Lit observed he was pale.

"You think I did something?" Still, his voice was calm, if a little shaky. "I saved the world?" He said it tentatively, as if trying to get used to the idea. "That's too much- I was just a caravanner. I got stalled, that's all. My-my papaopamus got hurt; I got off the road until it healed."

Nor Lit remained silent, thinking a way to get around that excuse, listening to the rustle of the leaves… to the lapping of the water on the rocks.

"I met a preacher on the shore." He finally spoke, suddenly recalling a memory that was not his own. In one of his letters, De Nam had explained to Adamanta how he'd come upon the legend of the princess and the memory-devouring demon: early on his travels, he met a preacher on the Jegon River's shore. "He spoke of two beings that fed on the memories of people. During the age of peace, a princess nibbled on the memories of mortals to keep herself satisfied, and it didn't hurt us, because we're bound to forget things- we have to. But the demon, he feasted on tragedy, on sad memories, and the miasma helped in creating them.

"…So the miasma carries that sadness, and only strong memories can keep it at bay. And he said, if somebody remembered how to awaken the Desert Flower, they could conquer miasma. Legends, I thought," Legends, De Nam had thought. "But Gi Lubeh once told a story about a swindler who tried to pay for goods with verses about the desert, about a rose…. And then the model of the world Amidatty had- got it from the swindler who was always being helped…by a lonely caravanner."

He spoke as the words came flooding in, the memories forming together in that order for the first time. How could he not have seen it before?

Thomas was stunned into silence, a look of surprise and -Nor Lit was sure of it- worry on his face. His shoulders slumped, and he avoided Nor Lit's eyes.

"You're wrong. I do not know how to get through that miasma stream." The Clavat closed his eyes, refusing to look anywhere anymore.

And Nor Lit sighed. At that moment, he felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders; he'd found his answer, he knew, even if Thomas refused to admit it. Because he refused to admit it. So Nor Lit smiled, and Thomas found it strange.

The rest of the day was spent in relative calmness. Nor Lit dropped the subject for the time being, and continued his interview in the way the others had gone. Thomas never truly relaxed, and even if Nor Lit avoided making questions that would seem like he was trying to get evidence, Thomas was cautious with what he told.

It was a lifetime of experience, though, and the Clavat had many stories to tell regardless of what he was leaving out. Stories about his family, about his wife, about other caravanners; it turned out it was he the one who'd taken a bite out of Amidatty's 'model of the world', and upon this revelation Nor Lit cracked up. Then Thomas described the Yukes' reactions and Nor nearly laughed himself to death.

Any other tribe, or any other person, even, would have thrown Nor Lit on the street the moment he put them in such an uncomfortable situation. But Thomas' mood lightened up considerably as they talked, so much that in the end it didn't look like he begrudged the Selkie at all. He was even kind enough to offer a spare room in his house for Nor to stay the night. This surprised Nor, but he accepted nonetheless- considering he hadn't thought about where he'd lodge.

By the end of the day, he was laying on a hammock hung in an oddly empty room, drifting into sleep. With his arms behind his head, he reflected on the events of the day and the things he had found: a string of memories that lead to a possible explanation about how someone could get through the miasma stream in the plains, and most importantly, who may have done it. Thomas could have all sorts of suspicions about a random stranger who suddenly showed up to throw wild accusations at him, but Nor Lit found him just as mysterious.

Secrets could be hidden by all sorts of things. Big secrets normally had large barriers protecting them, but this one- this one was hidden by a Clavat who was willing to let the one person who knew he wasn't telling something into his house. Thomas kept to the edges- of the village, of the people; he'd said as much himself, and he'd shrugged, not sure why he did that. Nor Lit fancied he knew why.

…So maybe, just maybe, this barrier wants to be broken? Nor thought fleetingly, seconds before he finally fell asleep.