001 - Wherin Bell and Elidi arrive, and discover some things in common with Fersi
Inside the villiage, tucked not too far from the wall, is an inn. It's a two-story affair, built sturdily out of stone and thick logs, and it spills a puddle of firelight and racuous noise. The sun has gone out and the town gates have just been closed; the inn is doing a brisk business, as usual. There are about fifty customers, and three waiters who are cheerfully ferrying large soup tureens to each table. Most of the customers are obviously people who just finished a good day's work. At the table nearest the fire a red-bearded man with clay under his fingernails is asking a woman with bushy brown hair to come look at his smaller wheel, which is wobbling. On the other side, a man with a scar on one cheek is shamelessly flirting with the cook, who stirs a vast cauldron with a long wooden spoon, and laughs back. Against one wall two freckled women eagerly, with much handwaving, debate whether they should expand their orchard now or wait until one of them, the shorter one, has had her baby.

By one window is a man who sips his wine and listens. His name is Fersi. He doesn't look out of place. He has nut-brown skin and dark brown hair, in a long ponytail; there are a few scars on his arms and one on his forehead, fairly fresh, from something which could have taken his eye out had it been a little further left, but otherwise his skin is unmarked, and he doesn't look much past thirty, if that. He's dressed in a chiton and sandals, like almost every other customer, and it would take quite a keen eye to notice the skin on his legs is lighter than his arms; this is a man who rides a hare and wears leather trousers as a matter of course.

He is in an excellent position to notice when the door bursts open and the wounded children stagger into the room.

They don't look more than eleven or twelve, with white skin and white hair, like albinos. They are in leathers and silks; one has a scarf tied over his head. He is supporting the other, who wears a fur-lined hat with dangling earflaps, and whose arm hangs, bloody, at an unnatural angle. "Please," he says to no-one in particular. "My brother's been hurt - "

Half the customers rise from their seats, and three actually rush over. "Alright, someone get some bandges and some clean water," one yells. It takes the combined efforts of all three to carry the wounded child over to the nearest table - Fersi helpfully slides his chair back and moves the winemug to the windowsill - and start getting the clothing away from the wound. "Dislocated, looks like," declares the woman with bushy brown hair as she runs a hand down the child's arm. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Our glider crashed," the boy in the scarf answers anxiously, and fiddles with the strap of his backpack. He doesn't seem to notice the dead silence that spreads like a ripple in a still pond across the room. He continues, "We're librarians. We do climate and messages and lookup and . . . Is he going to be okay?"

A waiter arrives with a bundle of bandages.

The boy in the scarf takes the other's hand, and gets a shaky smile. Then he steps back, leaning against the wall. He's shaking a little. Fersi comes over and leads him away by the arm to an unoccupied table. "Don't worry, boy. They know what they're doing. Your glider crashed, you say?"

"Y-yes. In the f-forest a bit c-clock-kwise . . . " The boy can hardly force the words out. "We were a-attacked by a pterosaur."

"Are you okay?"

"J-just a bit b-bruised."

Fersi nods, and helps the boy into a chair. "Well, these are good people here, and they're kind to strangers in need. They'll be glad of the library, too, but no call to take it out tonight; you need some rest. I assume your ibrary is in your pack, and we won't have to back to the wreck for it?" The boy nodded. "Good. Wht are your names, by the way?"

"Bell, and I'm Elidi."

"Old-fashioned names, eh? Well, I suppose it makes sene, for edge-people."

Quietly Elidi answers, "How did you know we were from the Edge?"

"Deduction. You have pale skin and white hair, you were in a glider - there are supposed to be a few dozen working gliders in the world, and all in Edge castles. Either you stole it, or someting nasty happened. I'd heard rumors of a castle, far clockwise, that got overrun by snowmen. Didn't hear about survivors, though."

There are a few moments of silence, hidden in the hubub.

"I think," Elidi finally says, "we should talk. Privately. B-but not t-onight."

--

It's two days before they get the chance to talk again, and then it's only because Fersi volunteers himself and his hare to help unpack the glider and drag it to the villiage, if it can be arranged.

The woods are considerably less dark and deep in daylight. They set out first thing in the morning; the sun, high above, is glimmering pale yellow. Bell is still in bed, and if the physician had her way so would Elidi be, but he had refused to put the task off. He also refused to leave his backpack behind, and clings grimly to the straps as they walk. Fersi wears his leather boots and carries his halberd. Mostly he's using it as a walking stick. His hare ambles amiably behind on her lead. "You have to have a lead," he explains when Elidi looks curious. "Prey animal, and all."

"Oh. We didn't use hares."

"Aah, yes, about that." Fersi smiles brightly. "So you are from the castle?"

"We hadn't thought the news had travelled so far." Elidi shrugs. "We'd thought we would have outrun it . . . "

"Yeah, well, I hear a lot. I'm a roving researcher. College under Querian Bang. I'm on a five-year tour." Fersi looks over; Elidi has his arms wrapped around his own shoulders, as if he was cold, although he's still dressed in layers of silk shirt and fur-lined vest. "Nothing really reliable; a few people saw the flash from far off. They assumed it was the snowmen."

Elidi chuckles. "It wasn't. It was a cult. Wish-hunters. They thought there was a Wish hidden there. There wasn't. We got out before they blew it, and they didn't see us. If they knew we were still alive ... they'd think we had it, and they'd come after us."

"And how do you know I'm not one of those cultists, boy?"

"You're not raving looney and you don't have a sevenfold star branded on your hand," Elidi answers, with another shrug. "We've met a few. Bell skewered them and we took their notes. We're Wish-hunters too."

They turn around a tree, and there, in a bright clearing, is the glider. The trees here are old and their bark is dappled with sunlight. The glider is silver with translucent wings, their visible bones a startling black. One wing flutters faintly in the breeze; the other is crumpled and broken. The whole assemblage is tilted at a stark angle and half the head is crumpled, rammed up against a moss-covered stump. Elidi rushes ahead and begins to dig about in the passenger compartment. It's a four-seater, but the back two seats are covered in bags, tumbled about from the force of the impact. Elidi ignores them and rummages in the pilot's seat, hauling himself up the side so his legs dangle. Fersi leads the hare up behind him. After a moment Elidi pulls out a small sword, with a sigh of relief.

"Bell's skewer, I take it?"

"Mmm-hmm." Elidi drops down and sticks it through his belt. "What do you think? Can your hare haul this back? It's really very lightweight, especially when it's on."

"Can you turn it on with the wings busted like that?"

"Oh, absolutely." Elidi blinks. "What kind of artifacts are you used to, that don't work even a little if bits break?" He clambers back inside, and reaches out to stroke the control panel. It lights up almost instantly, and there's the faint hum of a reactor turning on. He grabs a knob and twists it up, and the glider abruptly tries to lift itself off the forest floor. It doesn't get far. The hare makes a firghtened noise; Fersi ignores her as he goes around to haul on the damaged wing, pulling it free of the dirt. It pops free and nearly pulls him of his feet as the glider bobs back to the vertical, hovering just an inch over the grass.

"Fine machine," Fersi wheezes. "Sure, we can pull this back."

"Good." Elidi reaches behind the seat and produces a coil of rope. The glider's uninjured wing folds close to its body; the other tries and fails, and Elidi gets up to reach out and try to tug it close. It takes some time and help from Fersi, who enthuastically whacks the side with his hlbrd, but they manage to close it. Fersi knots the rope to his hare's saddle while Elidi ties it off to the other pilot's seat.

Fersi doesn't mount the hare; he keeps a hand on her saddle, though. "You know," he tells Elidi, "how come you're Wish-hunters if the ones you met are so nasty? Do you know something about the Wishes that I don't?"

"I might. What do you know?"

"Oh, you're a sharp one." Fersi laughs, tossing his hair. "They're an old story where I come from, and most people think it's just a story, but my goddess says they do exist. Nobody knows what they look like. There are seven of them, and they're artifacts and very, very magical, and if you find one it grants you your desire and gives you power equal to a god's, not that that's very impressive, and if you get all seven you can rule the world."

"I know," Elidi says, his face going grim, "that this cult already has one, and doesn't know how to use it. I think I know where one of the lost ones is."

"What? They're all lost." Fersi tugs on the lead, and the hare ambles forward, tugging the glider behind her. Elidi leans back in the pilot's seat and smiles. "Okay, well, obviously not all if this evil murderous cult has one. How'd they get it?"

"Havn't the faintest idea. They've had it a hundred years, though." Elidi sighs. "You're a roving researcher. Maybe you've picked up some clues. If I could borrow your notes - "

"Don't mind. Querian Bang wants to spread knowledge, and I will do as my goddess wishes. You have to answer my questions honestly, though."

"I can do that."

Fersi looks back, and his voice softens. "This can't have been easy on you. You're pretty young. Must miss your family, and all. I don't mean to be hard on you, but I can't help worrying, is all."

At that the boy laughs, bright and innocent. "It's been a year and a half. We're used to it, and we have each other, and we have a job to do. And so do you, I'm sure."

Fersi closes his eyes for a second. "I swear by the eighty million ghosts, I mean you no harm, and will render you such assitance as I can."

"Thank you." Elidi strokes the control panel idly; the glider does not appear to respond. "I expect we can help each other a lot."

It is at this point they are attacked by a drop-bear, but Fersi is good with his halberd and it doesn't take long to rip open the bear and drape its corpse oer the glider. "These make great stew," Fersi happily tells Elidi, who is too busy looking green to respond.

--