In Blue Blood, Part 2

We careened to the left and wove through mazes of gardens, music stages, hammock zones. "And this is the nursery and living quarters." The nursery was an architectural copy of the milk processing center, only much smaller and low-ceilinged--geodescent dome boards painted white and green. The rest of the living quarters were divided into sections of brightly colored yurts. "This area is for the maids. This area for the bucks. And this is where coupled pairs may have a bit of privacy," she gestured to a stand of larger, silver yurts on the periphery. "Surely you don't mean to search through all of them, do you?" She batted her eyes again.

I sighed. "Do you keep records of everyone's comings and goings in and out of the compound? Do you remember anyone leaving yesterday afternoon for several hours and acting unusual upon their return?"

Faun cleared his throat. Milkweed started,"You still have not given any reasons for why you think one of us is involved!" She harrumphed. "Sometimes we keep track of that stuff but yesterday's events are, well, a little muddied..."

The wind picked up, tousling a tree crown above Faun, making way for a thin dagger of light to fall on his back hoof, illuminating a speck of cobalt blue.

"I swear, he was already dead when I got there." Faun had folded quickly under questioning. "He had a Chi'El recipe, he...he actually summoned me there."

"Do you have the letter?" I asked.

"S-somewhere," he stuttered, his former bravado thawing, "the recipe was supposedly from the sap of a special tree, or so I was led to believe.It had been traded around town, if you knew where to look. It had certain...effects. More healing and spirited I suppose."

"And so, what? you found him dead and then pilfered his cabinets, stealing all the Chi'El you could find? Left him there. And partied till sun up.” Podargia squawked.

Faun nodded and hung his head.

…

We arrived at Nellwyn's cottage just after noon. Her housemate, a spotted water cat, greeted us and led us to her study. We found her sat on a stool facing the bay windows, fiddling with a telescope. The study was crammed floor to ceiling with books, papers, and forgotten mugs of tea.

Without turning to face us, she began, "Salutations, and all that. If we could just cut to the chase, there is a triple planetary conjunction (or syzygy) tonight so I need to get this telescope in order."

Her violet hair glinted in the noonday sun as she finally turned to us.

"We have a map we need help deciphering, found hidden in the late Alvy's shack. Also the fur of a Fire Fox. Do you know how we might go about finding one? They are notoriously elusive."

We unfurled the map on a great oaken desk, Nellwyn helping me on to the stool. She traced her fingers across the runic symbols, brow knit in consternation.

"A hunch, but given the location of Alvy's shack and his backstory, I think this is a map of the deep Western woods. The runes represent patches of certain trees--see here, how some runes repeat and the pattern of how they are clustered?"

We nodded. "If my theory holds, these runes appear to be of an ancient Dryadic alphabet, long since dead or evolved into other, modern iterations. Long since seeped into legend. Hold on." She moved to the far wall and examined the rows of books, tracing their spines. "Aha!" She plucked one out--a small tome bound in deep green cloth.

"As I'm sure you're aware, the forest is a network, so different tree types will share resources--like nutrients, water--and having any one type of tree overrepresented is bad for the ecosystem, can lead to disease or blight. This patch here," she tapped the space on the map, "is unlike the others." On the northwest corner, there was a rune unrepeated elsewhere. It was surrounded by other, varied rune markings in a circular pattern, as if standing ringed protection.

"Do you know the local legend of the Hamadryad?" She thumbed the tome’s thin pages.

"Refresh our memories."

"It is a dryad who is bound to its sacred tree--one that often possesses certain magical properties--and though she can stray from it, she cannot stray too far afield. And should her tree die, she dies with it, generally speaking. Some of the Moss People over the years have spoken of such a one here. She is more legend than anything. She never strays far from her tree, if ever. Offerings are brought to her, in exchange for the blessing of her magic tree. You see, this rune, here, is not the name of a known tree type, but more the name of a woman: Flower Moon."

Podargia and I glanced at one another. "Could the magical property of this tree be its special sap, perhaps?"

"Its a viable theory."

"So Alvy was selling this special Chi'el with this secret Hamadryad sap and didn't want anyone else to have the location?" I mused aloud.

"And was killed for it." Podargia added.

"We need to find that Fire Fox. How?"

"Tonight would be the perfect night--what with the triple conjunction occurring. I'll draw you a chart. During planet rise, you'll want to build a giant bonfire, under the middle planet--Ioy--and place raw eggs and apples (their favorite treats) around the perimeter of the fire. At the moment of the conjunction's maximum phase, your Fire Fox should emerge from the fire."

…

Feet up before the hearth fire, I toked contemplatively on my pipe. (Pod had some last business to attend to at the morgue, I had a report to write to the judge and a bonfire to prep. We planned to regroup before the conjunction.) A few pieces still didn't add up. Why invite Faun to his shack for the recipe? It was clear he wanted to keep it a secret. And why trip me in the market square last year? It was apparent to me in hindsight: the new ingredient to my tincture--had I been able to retrieve it--was Alvy's fungal/ergot compound. It had to have been. So if he was selling it, why would he not have wanted me to have it?

My reverie was broken by a swift knock followed by the slide of letters under the door. "You're a popular one today," the Mockingjay chuckled from the other side.

The first one was from Podargia. It read, "Something strange I noticed about Alvy's body. Hard to explain. Have photos, will show you tonight. Have some crackers ready. -Pod"

Sighing, I turned the second letter over in my hands. No return sender, thick paper stock, warm to the touch. The flowing cursive was written in a glowing carmine ink,

Ronan,

No need to send for me tonight. For no doubt, as your illustrious reputation precedes you, that is your plan. And so too was it my plan for you to find my mark. It is also likely that you have learned of Flower Moon. Here is what you may not yet know--Alvy is not one, but many. The one you found dead--a lesser copy, or clone. There is a cave beneath Flower Moon. And through the workings of her mighty root system, it would seem her magic gets stranger the deeper it seeps. And has seeped for centuries, breeding and copying all manner of creatures Most are simple beings who aim to serve their lady love, Flower Moon. As you read this now, I spelunk deeper into its bowels. In search of Alvy, the progenitor. You see, if anyone knows how unpredictable carbon chain reactions can be, it would be you. Alvy, the original Kobold in question, loves Flower Moon and her friends of the Western Wood. He would never turn her vital sap into Chi'El or have it sold for profit. He has kept her location secret for centuries. Until one day, he noticed she grew thinner, weaker. Though he rarely visited the cave where he was born, this day he checked the cave below for signs of infected groundwater. Imagine his surprise to see the mirror of himself down there, holding jar upon jar of bottled amber sap. The overharvesting sapping Flower Moon’s strength. And so both Alvys battled--the progenitor and the copy–making move and counter-move against another in town, for years. The copy is the dead one– Podargia must have discovered by now. (Flower Moon claims that the original Alvy should bear no rune marking upon his heart). There are more copies of him down here. Flower Moon recovers. Ha. A curious mind like yourself—I seek the original Alvy, for I know he hides out in the cave’s depths— not to know why he did it (for surely you have gathered by now that it was he who killed his clone?) but how such a trick of nature could occur. Nah, my assassin days are behind me. Irony is, I was hired by the copy to kill the original. But I have no dog in that fight now. If anything, good riddance, right? I mean, I never even got paid. My fight now is for science, knowledge and legend.

And to warn you if dead Alvys keep popping up--for they counteract the effects of the sap (as you suspected). A true romantic. Spilling blood to protect his lady love. Do not seek out Flower Moon.

Yours deeply,

Telikettu, Fire Fox

P.S. I sure wouldn’t turn down your offer of eggs and apples upon my return from the deep