A Lad in Alderheart

We set off for Alderheart the next morning, heavily laden with food supplied by Crispin’s mother. She seemed distraught to see him leave so soon, and wept openly as she held him tight and said goodbye to her brave boy.

The journey worked to smooth out the rough edges of our sudden partnership with Odwald Ebonheart and Riffin. We spent the time talking, exchanging stories, and sympathising with each other’s misfortunes.

Along the way, Riffin showed me how to make more use of my large wingspan in combat, and Odwald invited me to join his morning exercises to limber up before a long day of walking. It took a few days before I realised that throughout all my adventures with Olive and Crispin, I had missed other Birdfolk for company.

Fortunately the roads remained clear and we made excellent time, eventually arriving in Alderheart four days later.

We dropped by Eliza’s Emporium first to treat ourselves to some upmarket healing potions. They weren’t cheap but the flasks were quite stylish and the deep red liquid glittered in the light. We paid through the nose for them, but it was nice to have money to spend for a change.

“We should look for Susan,” said Odwald, a little irritated by the time it had taken us to haggle a minor discount. “She often sets up in the canopy market.”

It was only when I was putting the bottles into the Bag of Holding that I noticed the webbed fingerprints.

“Hannibal,” I muttered under my breath. “Inevitably.”

“What’s that, Plume?” asked Crispin.

“Nothing,” I replied. I wiped the evidence away before I stashed the rest of the flasks. “Let’s just find Susan.”

---

The market was visible just below from where we stood outside Eliza’s shop. It was a relatively civilised affair of billowing tents, bustling customers, a hubbub of haggling, and the faint clinks of gold pieces changing hands.

“There,” said Odwald, pointing to a purple tent beside a large sign with a crystal ball on it. “Let’s go!”

Odwald spread his wings.

“Wait,” I said, “the other’s have to take the—”

But Odwald had stepped off the platform to glide down towards the market.

“Have to what?” asked Olive as Riffin picked her up, following Odwald’s descent.

“Honestly,” I grumbled. “Just because we bought those health potions doesn’t mean your kind should go jumping off balconies.”

Crispin looked at me with his arms folded. “Our kind?”

I scowled and picked him up and heaved ourselves off the platform. I’d been getting stronger and I could feel it. In fact, I could carry Crispin quite well and maintain our glide easily with a few well-timed beats of my wings. We would have made a dignified entrance had Crispin not wriggled loose early.

“One jump ahead of the Perch Guard,” he whispered.

“What?” I squawked. “Crispin!”

He pulled free of my claws and plummeted towards the market like a stone.

Crispin landed sideways onto a sturdy lattice of cords supporting two stalls which bounced him up and onwards again like a trampoline. He cleared the top of a tent and grabbed a section of bunting which he slid down halfway, the rope burning through his hands, until it snapped with a sudden twang, and he careened forwards in through the open flap of Susan’s tent.

Sure enough, this stunt attracted the attention of the market-goers. A pale Luma shrieked with surprise when the rope snapped and a group of Mapach shoppers clapped politely as if this chaos was intended as a kind of entertainment.

I landed seconds later and ran straight in to assess the damage.

The tent was lit by flickering magical flames that heated a bubbling cauldron in the center. There were some augury bones, a deck of tarot cards laid out on a low table, and a crystal ball glowing with its own light and waiting to be used.

Olive was already there, helping Crispin to his feet. He had narrowly missed landing on the cauldron. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh dear, how are you?” said Susan, dusting herself off. “I knew you’d be here today.”

The old Hedge witch looked much the same as last time we saw her. She was even accompanied by her giant beetle familiar which scuttled out from under the table to click curiously around Crispin.

“I… fell from the sky,” said Crispin in a daze.

“Such a flashy entrance,” said Susan with a smile. “It’s rare to see a lad in such a hurry to visit me.”

Then Susan looked to the door of the tent as Riffin and Odwald stooped inside.

“My boys,” she cried and scampered over to embrace them.

---

“I understand you need help,” said Susan after we had settled down.

“We need to locate a magical artifact to tackle the source of the problem with the Scorched Grove,” I explained. “It’s called the Borealis.”

“I can help with that,” said Crispin, his confidence undiminished by his most recent brush with death.

“Not now, Crispin!” I said irritably.

“You can help if you like,” said Susan and gestured to her supplies.

Crispin’s eyes glowed, either with thaumaturgy or excitement. He and Susan traipsed between the supply on the table and the simmering cauldron, adding a touch of this tincture and a dash of that powder. Neither of them were coordinating, both seemingly working off their own recipes.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” I asked Susan quietly, shortly after Crispin found a fresh starfish in a bucket and threw it into the pot like a shuriken.

Susan did not reply. Instead, she took a worn wooden ladle from her apron and drank a hearty gulp of the concoction. She blinked slowly and I took a sudden step back. Her eyes had turned to deep black pools like the midnight sky, tiny constellations swirling faintly within.

“What a vision,” she murmured, her voice quiet, like a cool breeze cutting through the tent. “So many possible futures…”

She wrinkled her nose and cowered back from some unseen horror. Then she blinked again, slowly, and her eyes returned to normal. Susan sighed.

“Frost and fire,” she said after a moment of rest. “Yes, you must find the Borealis. But you cannot find it alone. The Tenders have a role to play, and you will also need— now, where was it?” Susan flicked rapidly through the pages of a herbalist’s tome. “This!”

Susan held up the page for us to see. It was an illustration of a dark green climbing vine with particular focus on the large alternating leaves. Even without reading the description, it was immediately obvious to me.

“Skyleaf,” I said. “We’ll need Skyleaf to find the Borealis?”

“Sorry, what’s Skyleaf?” asked Olive.

“You wouldn’t have seen it before,” I said quickly. “It’s a Birdfolk thing.”

Olive and Crispin looked at me indignantly.

“What?” I asked. “It only grows high in the canopy, extending its leaves up and up as if it is trying to touch the sky. I saw it once when I wasn’t traveling with…”

“Uh,” Crispin made a noise between a cough and a grunt. “We’re called Humblefolk.”

Olive glared at me.

“One other thing,” Susan interrupted politely before our discussion escalated. “Are you quite sure it’s alright for you to be here, Odwald my dear?”

“I think so…” said Odwald unconvincingly.

Disturbed from our bickering, we heard the heavy rhythm of marching footsteps approaching the tent. Riffin peeked his head out and then swiveled it back to look at us with alarm written across his face.

“Are you in trouble, Odwald?” he asked.

But Odwald had already cast his magical disguise and in his place stood Julius the Gallus monk. The sound of marching and the clink of armour reached us. Olive panicked and hopped inside Crispin’s cooking pot to hide.

A moment later, a wing flung open the tent flap and a tall white-winged Raptor with flowing robes pushed inside flanked by two burly Strig. Their armour clearly identified them as members of the Perch Guard, the Raptor some kind of officer.

“Defenders of Alderheart, greetings,” said the Raptor in clipped tones as he surveyed the tent. “You were seen entering with the known fugitive Odwald Ebonheart. Where is he?”

Riffin let out a little gasp.

“We were… here to ask that same question,” said Crispin dramatically. “Susan! Tell us how to divine the location of Odwald Ebonheart!”

Susan looked alarmed and her eyes flicked to Crispin’s pot.

The Raptor clicked his beak and began a set of delicate hand movements that made the air crackle. The magical fire heating Susan’s cauldron fizzled and dimmed and the liquid within began to turn from a vivid purple to a murky brown. The edge of Odwald’s robe started to fray and unravel. He edged surreptitiously behind Susan.

Without warning, Olive burst from Crispin’s pot in an arcing leap and landed in the center of the tent with an ear-splitting screech. She was wearing a pirate hat and eyepatch, and continued to scream as she kicked over a nearby stool and ran a circuit of the tent, dodging nimbly under the spears of the Perch Guard.

“Guards!” shouted the Raptor, but it was already too late.

Olive produced a flask of the sticky grey goo that she had taken from Odwald’s lair below the library. With a quick movement she shattered it violently against the breastplate of the nearest guard, covering everyone in the tent with a blast of sticky slime.

“Riiiii,” Olive continued as she dashed from the tent and plunged into the crowded market. The Perch Guard were hot on her tail.

She pushed the pirate hat into the arms of the first citizen who was too slow to get out of her way and winked with her uncovered eye. Then she ducked under their legs and scurried onward, dodging behind a tent to throw off the pursuing guards.

There were stacked crates used as storage back there. Olive bounded up them and ran across the canvas and up to the tent pole. The market below was in chaos as the Perch Guard tried to make their way through without sticking to any of the shoppers.

She squeaked and ran down the other side of the tent and leapt over to another. The momentum from the jump kept her going forward and over yet another gap before her luck ran out, and she landed heavily on a cart of fresh pears. The Cervan unloading them looked at her in horror.

“Free pears!” Olive shouted, knowing the all-consuming desire for free stuff that lived deep in all the citizens of Alderheart.

“No,” yelped the Cervan. “My pears!”

But Olive was already gone and the tidal wave of excited freeloaders crushed the rest of the pears to a pulp.

It wasn’t long before Olive circled back to us at Susan’s tent, grubby and smelling faintly like cider.

“We’d better slip away now,” said Olive, “before they come back to question us.”

“Remember when we were like that?” said Susan merrily. “But perhaps it’s best if Odwald and Riffin lie low with me for a while. You Defenders of Alderheart do seem to draw a lot of attention.”

“I don’t know why it always ends up like this,” I said, my dignity in tatters.

“It’s okay, Plume,” said Crispin and put a reassuring paw on my shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”