Jagged cliffs surrounded the Benaill province’s quaint townscape. Cracked stone paths climbed up the steep horizon, losing their direction as the terrain slowly eroded under them. With hardly a single renovation in sight, the townspeople appeared to be living in a time capsule—far removed from the modernized cities Lux had passed through before reaching Benaill’s border.
It was a province almost entirely populated by bovidae therians, grouped together only by the horns atop their heads. The wind was still, voices along the street echoed against the cliffs, accompanied by the low grumble of engines as passerby’s dipped in and out of their vehicles. When Lux walked past, she couldn’t help but notice the flowers arranged on their heads. No matter how simple or elaborate, all of them were beautifully maintained. Yet, despite this elegance, she found she was the one getting stared at.
Largely due to her studies, she knew any angel among the Mortal-Plane drew attention—but this was inordinate. And she was quickly growing tired of it.
She stood between two rows of display windows in a bustling shopping district, cursing at the outdated map in her hand. Worthless clump of shit. She was beginning to think the paper-boy who’d sold it to her had gouged her out of her coin.
Either that or the boy’s simply slow. Lux stepped under the canopy of a small library, making room for the group behind her to pass; ignoring the quiet sound of paper crinkling behind her. No well-studied child would think this map is up-to-date.
A shriveled hand pressed into her shoulder, patting lightly, “you don’t happen to be lost, do you? We don’t see many spirits passing through these old mountains.”
Lux turned to face a stocky old man holding a stack of flyers. The word ‘Missing’ plastered across the headings of each. She let out a lofty sigh, “I might be,” she turned her map towards the man, watching him tilt his glasses to read.
The man scratched his curled horns, shaking his head, “that there map is plum crazy, I haven’t a clue when it’s from.”
Plum crazy. Lux hadn’t heard a phrase like throughout her entire curriculum, nonetheless she let him continue without question.
“Tell you what, I’ve got some good maps inside. How about you take one? No need for a library card.”
Lux nodded, “You have no need to be that generous, but I’d appreciate it.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty!” The man said, passing her the stack of flyers in his hand, “hang these would you? Use that hammer and box of nails,” he disappeared inside, leaving the library door wide open, “Oh! But make sure you take those old flyers down first, the rain went and rurn’t them!”
Rurn’t. Lux thought he must’ve jumbled his words and thoughts together, turning to the signpost. The flyers on it were soiled, ink melting together so that the original writing was incomprehensible.
She tore the flyers from the signpost, pulling out each old nail, hanging their replacements.
Missing: Ruth Woodruff - Last seen: May 16th, 9568
Last known location: Eastern Overpass, Woods.
32 years ago. Lux’s eyes swept over the flyers, thirteen names—thirteen radically different dates. The oldest went back three generations, the newest, a mere two weeks. Most flyers without even a photo of the individual; relying on vague descriptions of birthmarks, farcical features, and horn structure.
But that wasn’t the only thing they had in common, Lux registered the same word over and over; woods, woods, woods.
Nearly all lost in the woods?
“How’s this for a map? Published just last year.” The old man erupted from the library again, holding out a colorful sheet of folded paper.
“Thank you, that’ll be more than enough,” Lux said, taking the map and slipping it into her satchel. She pointed towards the signpost, “I’m curious, are disappearances like this common here?”
“Unfortunately,” the man said, “in these mountains, with these cliffs, all it takes is one wrong turn—and once the sun goes down. . ., well, you ain’t findin’ your way back.”
“Those that are found. . ., they’re typically long dead.”
“There’s not much that can be done, it’s in your nature,” Lux said, without a thought for how cold-hearted she may sound, “are the ones who disappeared years ago still being searched for?”
The man’s breath stopped for a moment; frozen in a moment of bewilderment—before breaking out in elated laugh, “you’re a blunt one!” he turned back to the signpost, thinking as his grin faded, “Sad thing is, most ain’t even being searched for when they first go missing. . ., but I keep the flyers up—remind the families that we remember who they lost. Try to offer a tad bit of hope.”
“Who knows? If we get lucky one of em’ could show up eventually.”
Stolen novel; please report.
~
Lux held the back of Rae Avarice’s envelope against her map, following an overgrown trail along a line of battered homes. Lush brushed her knees, feet feeling carefully for the ground she couldn’t see, until she hit something harder than dirt. A fallen shingle. With a short-tempered murmur, she scanned the homes teetering on the edge of the cliffside. In some, grass sprouted through cracked walls and porches. In others, wood planks were snapped, leaving gaping holes anywhere from cellar to ceiling.
She waved a wasp from her shoulder. dragging her gaze upwards; the corner of a grand manor peeking over the nearby cliff. The Avaritia house. The closer she came to it, the more the woods thickened.
The trees seemed breathe as the wind rustled them; as if they had lungs of their own. These trees—real trees, were nothing like the Upper-Plane’s hollow imitations; gold shrubs with white twigs that had no seasons to change with. This was her first summer, and it was truly alive.
A great manor stood in the clearing before her—or, perhaps it had once been great. Vine curled up the walls, framing crumbling brick like a precious heirloom. She could see remnants of rich paint, intricate woodcarvings, and sturdy pillars; all smelling faintly of mold.
The porch groaned when she stepped onto it, sinking under her weight as she stopped at the door. What kind of noble family leaves their manor in this state? She rested her suitcase beside her, hoping the floorboards wouldn’t protest further. She straightened her uniform, brushed the stray grass from her stockings, raising her fist to knock.
A whistle sounded behind her.
She whipped back—but was met with nothing more than the empty treeline.
The Mortal-Plane’s trees even whistle? She shook her head at the illogical thought, turning back to the door, and knocked.
The quiet clack of heels inched closer beyond the door. “Good afternoon. . .,” frail hands curled around the door, an uncertain voice asking, “. . ., you are an invited guest, yes?”
“So long as this is the Avaritia house, which I believe it is—yes,” Lux held out Rae Avarice’s letter, watching the woman lean forward, eyes still filled with confusion; inclining Lux to introduce herself. “Lux of the Lea-Bethel house in the Upper-Plane—I was called on behalf of the Lady of this house, to act as a savior for Azazel Avarice’s soul.”
She gasped quietly, “Oh! my apologies—Lady Rae never received a response. . ., she assumed nobody was coming,” the door slowly creaked open. The woman stepped aside, curtsying, “please, come in.”
She wore a colorless maid’s uniform, tiny hands gripped her dress; belonging to a young girl that looked to be her daughter, wearing the same uniform.
“Madeline,” the maid urged as Lux stepped inside, “go get Lady Rae, would you, honey? Tell her the Upper-Plane has answered.”
“Now, we prepare a large suite for every guest—naturally every amenity you need will be provided without complaint,” she started swiftly down the hall, stepping over sawdust with an awkward chuckle, “excuse the mess, a whole heap of the manor is being renovated.”
About time—the place needs it. Lux thought, picking apart everything from the crooked wall trim to the nicked furniture. There was, however, one saving grace of this outdated entrance—a vivid painting along the wall. An exact recreation of the townscape she’d just seen beyond the cliffside. The signature in the corner reading, Abigor Avarice.
“You angels prefer higher altitudes, yes?”
“Yes; any Solstice gifted magic is strongest when we can touch the sky.”
“Sure thing!” the maid turned a tight corner, “we’ve got a large guest room on the third floor, it’s not the fanciest but it’s got it’s charm; I hope you won’t mind.” She disappeared up a tight flight of stairs, glancing back on occasion to study Lux; going on about meal schedules, cleaning services—a slew of superficial hospitalities Lux had already decided she didn’t need.
“This here will be all yours for as long as you’re here,” the maid stopped halfway through the hall, pushing open the door in front of her, “now please, treat it like home.”
Lux gave a silent nod. The room was far larger than any dorm in the Academy—yet remarkably bleak. There was a server against the wall, empty except for a kettle and small television. The bedspread, a bland pattern of white flowers, loosely matching the white lace hanging from the curtain rod. A bundle of lavender rested on the table in the corner.
Beyond the window—she couldn’t shake the sound of breathing trees, walking over to it—.
Another whistle.
She stopped in her track, hand floating over the dusty windowsill. Wasn’t that louder than last time?
Te trees let out a low growl, echoing, “Lux—.”
She slammed the window shut in an instant—the maid behind her jumping as the sound stopped. Lux turned to face her, “does it ever seem like the woods breathe? Do they ever whistle? “
“Does anything ever call your name when you’re sure there’s nothing there?”
The maid let out a short, bewildered squeak, “I, wh—no,” her voice trailed off, mouth agape. “I don’t think anything like that has ever happened to me. . ..”
The door fell open again, interrupting them. Lux stood straight, stepping away from the windowsill, meeting the sullen eyes of a middle-aged bovidae therian.
“Lady Rae,” the maid in the corner curtsied again, dipping lower and holding the stance for longer, “Little Madeline may not have conveyed my message properly, you see—”
“We’ve been answered,” Lady Rae mouthed to herself, voice so frail Lux thought it might break. Lady Rae nodded to the maid, “thank you Edith, you may return to your work.”
“I. . ., apologize for the lack of proper welcome,” Lady Rae said, intertwining her thin fingers. She towered over Lux, with limbs that stretched like branches; and tall, spiraling horns adorning the flower-crown on her head. “We weren’t expecting extra guests, certainly not spirits,” she trodded over to the server, straightening the kettle and pulling packages of tea and coffee from the cabinet beneath it. “Let’s see,” she mouthed to herself again, “Has Edith told you all we can provide—ah, what about the meal schedule?”
“You don’t need to worry about serving me. The God of Solstice asks that we leave perishables to the living,” Lux watched Lady Rae scoop up the lavender on the table, returning to the server to drop the bundle into a vase; obsessing over how each bud stood in it.
“As long as you don’t object—I’d like us to move right onto discussing my task here.”
