Week 10

  Calanthe sat up on her cot with a start, the kind of instant wakefulness that suggested she’d never been fully asleep.

  The first knock didn’t sound like trouble. It was just a quick tap, then silence.

  She shrugged on her robe, feet finding the soft-worn spots in the floor, and walked briskly to the door. The shop floor was empty but for Ember, sprawled in front of the door like a bear rug.

  Callie slid the bolt back and cracked the door.

  Lemmie, the miller-baker’s daughter, stood on the threshold bundled in a shawl that smelled like flour and yeast.

  “Callie,” she whispered. The voice was pitched low, urgent. “They’re looking for you.”

  Callie frowned, glancing up and down the lane. Mist clung to the cobbles, muting everything beyond arm’s reach.

  “Who’s looking?”

  “A Paladin, called Kaelen, from Magna Refectio. Him and six more, all with white capes and sun on their shields. They’re having tea with the warden back at the village. And… they’re asking for a monster healer. By name.”

  The phrase caught in Callie’s chest, sharp and unexpected. “Did they see you come here?” she asked.

  Lemmie shook her head, but not very convincingly. “They’re talking to everyone. My mom sent me to warn you.”

  That sounded right. Callie reached for the pouch at her belt and pressed a copper into Lemmie’s palm. “Good work. Get back home, but take the alley behind the cooperage, not the main street.” She let her hand linger a moment on the girl’s, an old habit from her hospital days.

  Lemmie nodded, the copper already secreted away, and darted off with the speed of someone who’d had to practice running early in life.

  Callie closed the door and turned to take stock. She moved first to the window, parting the curtains with two fingers. The town was waking; shutters opening just enough for a peek, then slamming closed again. Even the feral cats seemed to be in hiding.

  Ember cracked an eye. He stretched, shook off the night’s inertia, and padded over. When Callie crouched to scratch his head, the warg’s skin shivered under her touch.

  She made to walk back up but Tanith’s head appeared suddenly at the railing. Her hair was unbraided, and she wore a thin robe over her usual academy uniform.

  “What’s happened?” she said. Her voice was soft but edged.

  “A Paladin and some Knights,” Callie replied. “They’re asking for me by name so it’s probably the Purification team. Seven in total.”

  The mage smiled thinly, then vanished back upstairs.

  Outside, the day was shifting from blue to silver. The town was waking up for real now; boot steps on stone, a distant clang of the market bell, the first shouted insult of the morning somewhere by the canal.

  Callie took a final lap around the room, checking each lock and shutter, then crouched to eye-level with Ember. She ruffled his bristled fur, and when he rumbled, she whispered, “Stay out of sight, but keep an eye on Briar and Tanith.”

  Callie stood, straightened her robe, and watched as the sunlight crept across the floor in a thin, nervous line.

  She was ready.

  ***

  The aqueduct was a double row of ancient stone arches constructed with a slight, consistent downward slope stretching from the lakeshore to the shallow valley of the city limits. It was overgrown with green-black lichen and was soon to be replaced by an underfunded canal system.

  By the time Callie had finished her preparations in town and rushed to the water gate, Briar was already hauling the final barrel into place beside it. She watched as Tanith produced a knife, sliced the wax seal on the first barrel, and tipped it. The contents spilled into the moss-caked trough. For an instant, nothing happened. Then the stone sizzled, and a ribbon of mist unspooled upward, iridescent in the morning sun.

  The two worked with surprising coordination, each barrel uncorked and dumped in quick succession. After the third barrel, the trough began to vibrate.

  That was when the mist started to rise. It began as a trickle, a faint, green-tinted breath that hugged the channel’s edge. But as the moss drank up the liquid, it exhaled in earnest: billows of emerald fog that rolled off the aqueduct and cascaded down the hillside, pooling in the alleys and the hollows between market stalls.

  Callie could imagine the mild panic that was now ensuing in the center of town. If it kept everyone off the streets, so much the better. Briar turned to watch the city as the mist began to spread, seeping through the maze of streets like water searching for a drain.

  At first, the city was slow to react, the market vendors simply looked annoyed at the discolored mist.

  Then the “spore” cloud did what it was meant to do. It clung to anything magical: the runed charms above the bakery door, the scrying lenses in the hands of a passing courier, even the battered healing scroll strapped to a guard’s belt. Each time the mist touched one, it flickered with a pulse of fluorescent green. The healing scroll in particular sparked and buzzed, glyphs dancing in panicked disorder across its spine before settling into an uneasy equilibrium.

  It was working. Maybe too well.

  ***

  The first clue that the Purifiers had reached the street was not the sound of boots, but the abrupt hush that fell over the world outside.

  Callie rolled her shoulders and took position behind the door of The Disenchanted Cauldron. Through the thick oak, she listened: measured steps, the rhythmic clatter of plate against plate, the dry snap of a command given and acknowledged.

  Callie lifted the edge of a curtain and peered out.

  Sir Kaelen’s company stood in a loose phalanx, just beyond the well at the center of the lane. Their armor was mirror-bright, each plate etched with sunbursts and stylized flames. The green fog pooled at their feet, swirling in eddies.

  Kaelen himself was unmistakable: tall, severe, blond hair cropped so close it looked painted on. His helmet, crested with a white-gold plume, was tucked under one arm. The other hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, fingers drumming with the pulse of a man waiting for someone to eradicate.

  Callie watched as one of the knights raised her hands and began a warding incantation. The gesture was crisp, the words precise, but the green fog clung to her like static. The magical circle appeared, hovering for a second, then fizzled as the mist invaded the pattern. A visible shudder passed through the formation.

  Another knight tried a different approach: a projected shield, this one burning gold. It coalesced, flickered, then collapsed inward, sending a pulse of light up the wearer’s arm. His gauntlet sparked, and a strip of red error text flashed in the air above his knuckles:

  [Warning: Mana Circuit Deviation — Environmental Variable Unaccounted.]

  Kaelen absorbed the setback without expression. He took a single step forward, scanned the lane—eyes moving too quickly to read as anything but calculation, then barked a single command.

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  “Steel, not light,” he said. “Full formation. Assume high-volatility terrain.”

  The knights drew their swords as one. The blades were uniform, each forged with the same meticulous economy: broad, double-edged, crossguards etched with sigils that now sputtered and dimmed.

  Callie watched as Kaelen studied her Apothēkē, his gaze lingering just a little too long on the warped glass of the windows. He was a cautious bugger.

  Ember had taken position by the back door. Zhao Tong was somewhere outside waiting for the opportune moment to engage. Callie hoped that both Tanith and Briar had the good sense to just hide.

  She exhaled, thinking through the next move. The moss-fog was holding for now, but the Purifiers would adapt quickly. Kaelen was the kind of antagonist who learned on the fly, not wasting time with failed tactics. He’d already shifted from magic to steel, and in less than a minute.

  Callie ran a hand through her hair, smoothed her robe, and considered the odds.

  Seven knights. At least two with magical backup, even if their HUDs were compromised. Kaelen leading, which meant the others would be more predictable, but also more dangerous if given leash.

  She set her jaw, squared her shoulders, and moved to the window, waiting for the inevitable breach.

  ***

  It started with a shout. Two adventurers stumbled out of the alley near the cooperage, blinking against the haze. They were clearly from out of town: fresh leather, secondhand gear, the kind of optimism that still believed quests ended in reward. One raised a hand in greeting, maybe to ask directions, maybe just to prove he wasn’t armed.

  Callie cursed under her breath.

  The knights didn’t even hesitate. The leader, one of Kaelen’s lieutenants, gave a short, ugly order. Her squad split in a pincer. The first kid went down on a knee, confused, then the second was on the ground, blood pulsing out in slow, improbable arcs, painting the fog in streaks of ochre. The bodies hit the stone, and the green mist curled around them, pulling them into shallow puddles.

  Callie’s hands went cold and her mind was screaming. Ember tensed beside her, lips drawing back to show rows of glowing teeth. She pressed a calming hand to the warg’s ruff, feeling the coiled heat of him, then looked back to the street.

  “Don’t do that!” Kaelen screamed. “You’re going to get the whole town descending on us now.” It was clear that the knights were feeding off Kaelen’s seething frustration and acting out his deepest desires without any of his self-control. “Oh fuck it… It’s more experience points for me anyway.”

  That was when the moss began to move.

  At first, it was subtle—just a shimmer at the edges of the window, a few motes of bioluminescent green that brightened with every footstep on the stones. But as the knights advanced, the moss thickened, spreading in lazy loops up the tavern’s outer wall, then branching into the cracks between cobblestones.

  Callie heard groans coming from the mist and the bodies of the two young adventurers could be seen crawling away from the knights. For a moment Callie thought: zombies. But it was much more likely that the Bloom Graft (Healing Moss) she had planted around the town had done their work on the fallen men in tandem with the "spores."

  One of the knights raised his hand, activating a targeting spell. A cone of white light shot out, illuminating every surface at once, but the moss just drank it in and reflected it back, brighter than before. The knight cursed, then tried again, upping the intensity. The result was even worse: the moss now flickered in time with his spell, pulsing like a slow heartbeat.

  Kaelen watched all this without expression, but Callie saw the flicker of annoyance in the way he adjusted his gauntlet, the brief check-in with his own heads-up display. Whatever he was reading, it wasn’t good news.

  She scanned the lane, looking for Zhao Tong. Nothing yet. But the moss-fog was getting denser, making it hard to tell where street ended and new growth began.

  The first breach came at the back door.

  Callie heard the wood groan, then the abrupt slam of armor against it. Ember was already moving, teeth bared. She followed, rounding the corner just as the door gave way.

  The knight who entered was big, not just tall but dense, the kind of body that needed custom armor and a diet of daily steak. His helmet visor was up, revealing a face tattooed with runes; defensive spells, probably, now all shorted out by the environmental interference.

  He took in the kitchen at a glance, spotted Callie and Ember, and grinned.

  “Monster’s den,” he said, voice as cheerful as a weather report. He raised his sword and stepped inside; and collapsed with a blood curdling scream as Zhao Tong’s spear sliced though the chain mail protecting the back of his right knee joint. Zhao didn’t wait for the knight to fall before breaking his left knee joint as well. The knight wasn’t going to die due to the healing moss lining Callie’s shop but he wasn’t about to walk any time soon either.

  Inside the shop, the moss had been triggered into exponential growth on any organic surface. It grew along the rafters and then drooped down, forming a series of archways, each one narrower than the last. The effect was like a living maze, with the path closing behind every footfall. The lighting was surreal, everything in shifting shades of green, blue, and white.

  Ember prowled in a slow circle, eyes fixed on something descending from the upper level, completely obscured by moss. The knight stood out starkly and unnaturally like a dark spot or a dead zone amidst the photosynthetic maze.

  Callie signaled Ember and the warg lunged forward, moving with a speed and grace that defied his bulk. He went for the exposed calf, jaws clamping down just above the greave. The knight yelled, lost his balance, and toppled headlong down the staircase crushing at least an ankle and a knee.

  Callie looked away but her [Triage Instinct] told her that he would make it.

  The green fog was everywhere now. Callie could taste it, sweet and sharp, filling her lungs and making her movements lighter and easier.

  From the back door, she heard Zhao Tong’s voice: “Clear!”

  She sprinted to him, Ember right behind.

  They reached the back garden just as another crash shook the building.

  “Let’s move,” Zhao said, gesturing to a narrow portal in the growing labyrinth of green.

  Callie nodded.

  She slipped in behind him, Ember following, the world narrowing to a corridor of glowing moss and the promise of escape.

  ***

  The world outside the shop was nothing like the one they’d left behind.

  Where once there were rooftops and shops, now there were only corridors of bioluminescent green. Moss hung in loops from every eave, vines crawled over shingles and downspouts, and the air itself pulsed with light. Callie blinked, and for a second, her vision adjusted: the city was a nervous system, and every glowing filament was a nerve firing, reaching for more.

  Someone tapped her on her back. It was Briar, who was shaking “spores” off her vest and looking pissed about it, but otherwise unharmed. Tanith hovered behind, hands moving in silent calculations, eyes flicking between the moss and the chaos unfolding around her.

  The moss corridor ran parallel to the street, only six feet wide but impossibly long. The ground was spongy, almost yielding, but held their weight with no trouble.

  At the first intersection, Callie saw a wounded baker.

  He was slumped against a wall, hand pressed to a gut wound that pulsed blood with every heartbeat. The green light made the injury look worse than it was but he was still dying.

  Callie dropped to her knees, put two fingers to his neck, and counted. Pulse present, weak. She unwrapped the scarf from his waist, balled it, and pressed it against the wound.

  “Briar, hand me the moss on that sill,” she said, not looking up.

  Briar obliged, yanking a chunk free. Callie packed it tight into the makeshift dressing. The plant responded, sending out fine roots that wove themselves into the cloth and the wound, pulling the edges of the gash together.

  “Good,” Callie murmured, mostly to herself. The applied [Mend Flesh] to accelerate the healing.

  The moss flared white, then settled into a steady glow. The baker’s eyes fluttered open; he coughed once, then said, “I dreamed I was bread.”

  Callie snorted. “You’ll live. Don’t move for five minutes.” She wiped her hands on her leggings and kept moving.

  The next intersection was blocked by a barricade; three mid tier adventurers, faces streaked with green. One recognized her and let them through, no questions asked.

  “Don’t fight them!” Callie told them desperately. “Just hide.”

  But she knew it was useless. The town’s defensive response had been triggered and it wouldn’t stop until the the invaders had been expelled. The only thing she could do was to tell them to gather up as much moss as possible for its healing properties.

  She let her mana flow into the moss underfoot. This time, she aimed for coverage, not precision. The network responded: roots thickened, walls became spongier, and the corridors twisted, growing more convoluted with every step. She realized, with a thrill and a tremor, that the moss had begun to self-organize. It was learning.

  She reached a small plaza, once a marketplace, now a glowing amphitheater. The knights were there, hacking at the moss, but making little progress. Kaelen stood in the center, directing traffic with minimal gestures. He’d abandoned magic, relying on pure muscle and strategy to carve a path. They were blind to everything around them but were still marked as dead spots in the green jungle, clearly visible to everyone with two eyes.

  “Why are they standing out like that?” Tanith asked.

  “Based on my experience, it’s because they’re using System-coded mana,” Callie “It’s not native to this world, which wouldn’t really matter unless you were immersed in a natural mana field.”

  “Yeah, I’m going to have get back to you on that System-coded mana thing,” Tanith said, frowning.

  “You and Briar head to the Town Hall like we planned and keep low. Ember is with me, and Zhao…” Callie looked around. Zhao Tong was nowhere to be found. Probably out hunting again.

  Tanith and Briar headed off under cover of the fog. Across the plaza, she saw Kaelen, already there, studying the surrounding structures with a tactician’s eye.

  She watched as he barked an order, sending two of his remaining knights away from him. They moved with precision, ignoring the moss, and seemed to be heading in the direction of the water gate at the terminus of the aqueduct where the concentration of green fog was highest.

  It would have been a smart move under normal circumstances, attempting to shut off the fog at source. But it was piece of luck for Callie and her crew in this instance, splitting up the forces opposing them.

  Once the two knights had departed, Callie pushed more mana into the moss surrounding the town square. The moss surged, closing in around the knights, forcing them into a tight circle.

  Callie could tell that Kaelen was the cautious type. He didn’t know that the moss had no direct offensive utility whatsoever and he couldn’t take the chance that it wouldn’t suddenly turn poisonous.

  She looked at Ember, who wagged his tail.

  “We hold,” Callie said, rubbing his back vigorously. “For now.”

  And the moss agreed, pulsing in time with her heartbeat, the whole city alive and awake and, for this moment, in balance.