Epilogue: Business in Squalls Crossing

It had been a few days since the dungeon dive and, thanks to Phyllis’ Mall Domain, we had spent them in our beds back at school. Sure, it only took three days to get there, but why turn down instant gratification?

That said, there was still one more errand we needed to run before we could really relax and enjoy the break until classes started back up.

Taking a group trip once more through the Magosdrome to Ter’aquit, we followed our familiar trek through the city and along the country roads. Being a bit tougher this time and much more vigilant, we experienced a relatively relaxing and comfortable journey.

Arriving at Squalls Crossing by midday, we split into groups. First, I had Aesandoral and Sharzin go grab rooms at the nicest inn they could find. Having made quite the windfall after the last adventure, there was no harm in living a life of luxury and enjoying the fruits of our labour. This left Rionriv and me to explore the streets for the second job.

“You going to tell me what we’re doing?” She asked, as I peeked down every street in search of our mobile target.

“We’re going to make contact with the head of Shatter,” I replied quietly after making sure no Anak’hati soldiers were nearby. “He’s in town for two days to see his daughter off.”

“His daughter off? Where’s she going that would bring him to a town under partial Anak guard?”

“She’s going to Anak’hati for the Power Word Thrill concert.”

“Ah, the one we can’t go to,” Rionriv said as she nodded with a disappointed glance. “Gotcha. Now I see why you chose me to join you over Aesandoral.”

“I chose you because, as the triop’s de facto leader, you deserve to be a part of this mission.”

“Nice save.”

We wandered the streets for nearly an hour, keeping close to the various bakeries and baking goods stores.

As we casually loitered, I whispered into Rionriv’s head that the leader of the insurgency used his bakery business as a front for Shatter. They took advantage of the regular transportation of high-quality baked goods around Moal’aw to smuggle weapons and people in and out of the various countries' borders.

Rounding a corner, I stopped, catching our target out of the corner of my eye. He stood a little smaller than Sharzin and held a basket of baked sweets. Wearing a baggy white shirt hidden beneath green coveralls and a cap on his head large enough to obscure his face partially, he presented quite the forgettable appearance.

Currently, he looked up at two off-duty Anak’hati soldiers who had been casually wandering the streets. The infiltrator wore a large smile and spoke with a nasally voice.

“Well, golly. I’m from up north a way, but I’m sure the people here are just delighted at the luck of having you boys present and watching after them. Here, how about a pastry? They’re fresh.” He laughed slightly. “Well, they were held in a Bottomless Bag of Preserving—heh-heh—so fresh with an asterisk, heh.”

The soldiers, completely defused by the conman’s charisma, took the pastries with a smile and went on their way. Shifting my head to watch them depart, by the time I had turned back to the small man, he had already disappeared down a nearby street.

Giving chase, we tried to keep up with the infiltrator, but he was fast for his size. I knew this, but Rionriv was surprised as the two of us were both exceptionally quick and still struggling to keep pace.

Eventually, we began to head down alleys and not streets. It took me a few too many turns to realize this, which was why it was a shock to round one final alley and find our quarry in a defensive stance with a rapier drawn.

“Why are you following me?” The man demanded.

There was no fear in his words. This was the voice of a seasoned veteran that I knew could cut me down in a moment.

“Mister Seed,” I spoke calmly, my hands in the air to show I was unarmed, “I am only here to help your bakery.”

“Well, we’re just fine, thank you.”

I pointed towards the bag on my hip and slowly reached for it. His sword flicked so quickly I barely saw it. Within a moment, my shirt billowed oddly as it sliced open, and a thin line of blood dripped from the surgical cut across my torso.

Rionriv stepped forward, but I held up my hand.

“Iz.” She growled.

“Ri, it’s fine.” I insisted. “Just a misunderstanding. I merely wanted to show my grains, I believe they would make fine flour for your sweets…General.”

I whispered the last bit as I reached into the bag and withdrew a shimmer crystal the size of my palm.

The man quickly approached and shoved my hand back into the bag.

“Well, those are indeed fine grains, lad! Allow me to take a closer look.” He approached, getting close enough to be heard as he spoke under his breath. “Choose your next words carefully. Who are you? Why are you here?”

“I am the Ruby Oracle, Ishara,” I said softly, looking down at the man. “I am no ally of the nationalists of Anak’hati, Ter’aquit’s plutocrats, or the bureaucrats of Sultin’eli that turn a blind eye to the suffering of this continent. I believe I can help you bring about actionable change.”

The man looked me up and down. Stepping away, he clicked a button on his rapier that quickly shrank it to the size of a dagger, which he slid into his belt.

“Damn it, Petal,” He mumbled, rubbing at his head. “Hundred and fifty years and your predictions are still accurate, huh?”

“I’m sorry, did you say Petal?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat. “General Petal Highland mentioned me?”

“Yeah, and the fact that you don’t seem overly surprised means you must be somewhat familiar with her and her abilities.”

“Yeah,” I remarked with a knowing nod. “Chronomancy.”

“Yeah,” He grumbled with a sigh. “She said that one day, in one of the potential futures, I would meet a traveller from beyond time and space. He would act as the ruby oracle and be gifted with crucial knowledge of the future. She insisted that if this future were to come to pass, I would listen and help the oracle when able, and in turn, his soldiers would help me in a dire time of need.”

Well, I never wrote this, so this is news to me! Damn, I just got creeped on by a time magic caster from 150 years ago.

“Oh, she said all that about me?” I rubbed the back of my neck with a nervous laugh.

“She also said that if I were to come in contact with the Ruby Oracle, I needed to deliver a message.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” He cleared his throat. “It went, ‘Oracle, hear me. Your appearance has jeopardized the fragile balance of this world. No matter how hard you try, you will interfere again and again. Remember that you walk the fine line between bettering and burning this whole world. Do not waste the opportunity Ishara has given you, Tahvin.”

Chills raced through my body at the last line. She knew more than I anticipated. Not talking to Ishara the Oracle, but speaking with Tahvin, the author.

“So yeah,” He finished. “I hope that makes sense, and I guess, don’t screw it up?”

“Thanks.” I replied as the man stepped close to me and put a card into my hand.

Glancing down, I read the name across the front. The name of his shop, The Bread and Crumble Patisserie. And, in the corner, his name. Basil Seed.

“Why don’t you swing by our shop in Fallowfield next week. Bring this in and ask for your ‘free yummy with a side of delish.’ Then we can discuss those fine grains of yours, my lad.”

Basil turned and began to leave as I called out to him a final time, “It was a pleasure to meet you finally. And, hey, don’t mind Lemon too much. She’s young.”

He stopped momentarily, no doubt wondering how I knew about his youngest daughter, his child bound by prophecy. Then he relaxed, giving me a slight wave before stepping away.

“Yeah, I was her age once.” He replied. “A long time ago.”

He was gone, leaving Rionriv and me in the alley.

“Phewf—that was some intense negotiating, huh? Did you see that, Ri?”

Turning around, Rionriv looked at me with a confused stare. Her arms were crossed, not angrily, but with irritation.

“Iz?” She asked, inspecting my face. “Who’s Tahvin?”

“Huh?” I played dumb, which was probably a bad move with Rionriv.

“The succubus called you Tahvin in the security booth. And now this guy said some long-dead General left you a message, and there was that name again. Who. Is. Tahvin?”

“Uhhhhhhh—”

Crap! What am I going to do…