Claude de Lune

Triton

Claude climbed to the deck of the Maiden's Pearl, his trunk slapping against every step on the way up. The sun beat down on his head, hotter than he'd ever felt it before and the sky was a cloudless blue expanse from horizon to horizon. He was a long way from the temperate northern regions now.

And yet, he still felt the tingle of Amadeus' kiss.

All that time he'd thought Amadeus' teasing came from a place of envy. Instead it came from a place of admiration? Lust? Claude had never been more confused. Perhaps the signs were there, and he just hadn't noticed. Not that he'd even know what those signs looked like. His life's goals hadn't left much room for romance.

The wind took his sigh away. It didn't matter now, not when his sights were set on someone more important. He leaned against the port rail and rubbed his still sore hand. In the distance, mountains rose over the horizon, dotted with colourful structures and encrusted with trees. The ship cruised by small schooners and merchant vessels sailing away from the port, even more than he'd seen in Avaly. Before long the deck hands were vaulting over the rails to moor the ship to the dock.

Desta glittered in the early afternoon sun, a collection of colourful buildings and even more colourful people. The dock and the boats that occupied it stretched for at least a mile in either direction. Beyond it was the largest market Claude had ever laid eyes on.

Colourful banners and canopies swathed every stall. Vendors smiled and waved at him as he drifted by, a welcome reprieve after the screaming he'd endured at the last port. There was chatter of course, but it was more of a gentle hum rather than discordant noise. He passed stalls glittering with handmade jewellery, skillfully crafted weapons, a potter carefully moulding a mound of clay into a bowl and a woman lowering a white swathe of cotton into a cauldron of bubbling purple dye.

Claude averted his eyes, lest he waste the whole day drooling over textiles. He had a plan—get a map, get supplies and get on the road. The more he deviated from it, the longer it would take him to get to the archives. He stopped in front of a store with journals, bookmarks and ink in its windows. Not exactly where he'd expect to find a map, but maybe they can point him in the right direction.

As he stepped inside a bell rang over his head and he was bathed in the scent of pressed paper. The shopkeep, a fallow-skinned lady with expressive brown eyes, was busy with customer, so Claude perused the shelves lining the shop's walls. He found more sizes and weights of paper than he'd know what to do with, journals that were so small they could fit in his pocket, journals that were so big, he'd need help to carry them.

There were books on various subjects stacked near the bottom and vials of ink in a rainbow of colours. His Lordship would've loved this place. Perhaps if Claude ever hazarded a revisit to Hedalda he'd take Sicero some of these inks to draw his pretty pictures with.

Can I help you?" the shopkeep called from the back of the store. The guy she'd been helping tipped his head at Claude as he exited the store.

"Uh, yes." Claude sidled up to the glass display filled with finely crafted quill pens. "I'm heading to Jibari and I need a map. Know where I can find one?"

She smiled. "You've come to the right place." She rifled through the shelf behind her and produced a folded up square of paper. "This should suffice for your needs." She unfolded it to reveal a hand-drawn map of the region. She tapped the part of the coast labelled Desta. "If you're headed to Jibari, you want to go east through the Kadar plains to the edge of the Summersong Mountains." She traced a finger Desta all the way east to a cluster of buildings labelled Jibari.

Claude nodded. "Are there any waypoints on this route?"

A crease formed in her brow. "I... uh... excuse me?"

"You know, waypoints. Places where travellers can camp that are safe from the netherborne."

Realisation dawned on her face. "Ah, I see. You came from the north. There are no netherborne in this region."

Clause blinked. "I... are you sure? Or is this some kind of local joke?"

"No joke, stranger. The netherborne never came past the desert. And with good reason. This region has the highest concentration of necromancers. They wouldn't last long." She folded up the map and held it out with both hands. "Apart from the heat, you should be just fine."

"I see. Thank you very much." He accepted the map with a small bow and threw a few coins on the counter.

The shopkeep swiped them into her apron. "Safe travels."

Claude waved over his shoulder as he left the shop. No netherborne in this region. He almost couldn't believe it.

And yet, as he stepped out into the market, as he really breathed and took it in, he knew something was different here. The smell, the atmosphere, even the sky. Things in Desta seemed more pristine. Even more pristine than Avaly, which he knew hadn't been touched by the netherborne more than once.

Claude started up the road again, deeper into the market. He found some breathable clothes at a textile shop and better shoes at a cobbler. A squat, older lady weaved him a hat that was just his size from bleached fibre. The farthest end of the market was entirely dedicated to food.

Even long before he saw the vendors, he was bathed in the hot vapours of roasted meat. He stopped by a stand where a young girl stuck thin pieces of dough to a hot stone where they bubbled and bloomed brown spots. Claude bought a few for the road, and she bundled them up in a thick swathe of cloth. That along with cured, dried meat and a few half ripe fruit rounded out his provisions. He was ready for the road.

Claude made his way to the edge of Desta and gazed over the hilly terrain that would be his home for the next few days. Trepidation made his heart flutter. He'd never come this far, never been this close.

There could be a corpse ten days away, and while he wasn't ready for that, he was ready for closure. He was ready to end this ten year journey. He hoped Lylon's word's all those years ago were right, that his mother's soul was calling out to him. Perhaps that was what kept him him going for so long, what would keep him going beyond what awaited him at the Archives. Even if that call was coming from the afterlife.

Things would be different, but they'd be okay.

He'd be okay.