102. Moonlit Interview

  As Serac’s second day of ascension drew to a close, she was treated to a view of a night sky truly worth remembering.

  First, the Pretjordian sun set behind the Roots, darkening the sky into a velvety myrtle-green. A pale-jade moon then materialized in its place, floating unhurriedly across the very top of the Realm, where it spent the rest of the night peeking in and out between the outlines of a distant canopy—the Realmtree’s Crown, also known as Krongard.

  Krongard. That was where the king and queen resided, along with their stable of Wayfarers who might on occasion deign to descend the Realmtree and help the common folk with their common problems. Serac had assumed her journey would take her there sooner or later, along with an inevitable meeting where she and Zacko would have to decide on the method of obtaining their next Ascension Mandate.

  As such, no one could’ve foreseen that the meeting would happen so soon, or that it’d take place at one of the ‘lowest’ points of the Realm.

  “Loha too used to love our night sky,” King Tyr murmured to no one in particular, with his bull-shark’s face softened by fond recollection. “After she joined me in the palace, every night, she would sit for hours on the balcony, just moon-watching. At first, I thought it was the novelty that appealed to her; I’ve heard horror stories about the dreary blood-red that fills the Naraka sky. But then she told me something interesting. She said looking at our moon gave her comfort… almost like seeing an old friend or being told a bedtime story as a child. Is that how you see it too?”

  The king had asked Serac a direct question, but she took her sweet time thinking up an answer that made sense to her. In the end, she settled for:

  “As someone with no experience with old friendships or bedtime stories, I can’t say that I relate. But… I think it’s possible that I’m feeling something similar? When I look at this moon, I imagine what it might be reflecting… the stories of all the Yakshas that lived and died (and died some more) here through the Kalpas. Their joys, their hardships, their hopes and dreams both sated and unfulfilled. After all, it’s not just me or Loha, is it? All souls who sprout upon the Realmtree would’ve watched the same moon at one time or another, sharing with it secrets we wouldn’t dare even with our closest friends.”

  “Beautifully put, Serac!” Tyr enthused with a wide smile—which, as genuinely friendly as it was, had the terrifying effect of showing off the full complement of his serrated teeth. “I say, Loha too has a bit of the philosopher-poet in her. Is this something that’s common to all the Rakshasas? You must understand, I haven’t met many examples from whom to draw my inferences.”

  “I’ve got you, Shark Bro,” Zacko interjected then, as he leaned back lazily in his seat. His speech was slightly garbled, owing to his picking his teeth with a sharpened twig. “I’ve met all kinds of Rakshasas while I was down in hell, and no, they’re not all princess-poets like Serac. But I suppose when you’re one of the rare Naraka starters that manage to ascend every few centuries, you’d almost have to be an oddball.”

  Tyr closed his tooth-laden mouth and nodded sagely, apparently in full agreement with the Manusya’s analysis. If he took any offense on his wife’s behalf for being called an ‘oddball’, he didn’t show it.

  “Can I ask you something?” Serac said, frowning thoughtfully up at Tyr’s massive frame. After an evening of shared merriment and gastronomic delights, she felt as though she could say anything to the Yaksha king—almost like the two of them were ‘old friends’, as it were. “How did you and your wife, you know, end up together? I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but a powerful soul like you, you must’ve had your pick of local admirers. Why an outrealmer—and why Loha specifically?”

  “Serac!” Zacko cut in with mock outrage, exaggerated eyebrows raised to the night sky. “Never pegged you for such a shameless gossip! Even I wouldn’t stoop that low.”

  “What?” Serac shrugged with genuine innocence. “Don’t pretend you’re not curious too! Besides, with Loha out of earshot, what better time is there to ask?”

  Indeed, the conversation might’ve sounded a lot different if the queen hadn’t retired early for the night, (understandably) exhausted after putting her HEARTHSTONE through the wringer. Presently, the only souls left inside the crater were the king, his two outrealmer guests, and several sleepy soldiers and their sleeping tortoises. Even the rowdy Rotgardian civilians had packed up and left en masse, slinking back into the shadows of the wasteland without so much as a second glance at the visitors.

  “It’s a perfectly reasonable question, and I’m happy to answer it,” Tyr said with a mild, rumbling chuckle. “How do I love Loha? I can count the ways, and sit here all night doing it. Her brilliant mind, her fierce personality, her understated beauty. None of it a lie, and all valid reasons for choosing a life partner, but if I’m being fully candid with myself, it was her food that first made me stop and think: hm, perhaps I ought to put a ring on that.”

  “I mean, sure, she does make a mean peach pie,” Serac had to concede, even though a part of her was disappointed by the answer. What had she expected? Something a little more—what was the word?

  “Did you expect something a little more romantic, Serac?” Tyr said good-naturedly, apparently sympathetic to Serac’s disappointment. “It’s fair enough. I wouldn’t expect someone who’s spent all of two days here to understand. But believe you me when I say that cooking good food is the most romantic thing one Pretjordian could do for another.”

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  “Elaborate,” this from Zacko, looking rather more serious than the occasion perhaps warranted. “I may or may not be taking notes.”

  “Happily,” Tyr obliged. “First, let me begin by saying that the Realmtree is a gorgeous home, and I wouldn’t trade it for all the Six Realms of Mount Meru. Yet, when one spends their entire existence foraging—that is hunting, gathering, stockpiling, trading, and even scheming for that next meal—food very quickly becomes a chore rather than the pleasure it’s meant to be. Doubly or even triply so when you’ve lived for as long as I have. That’s why… when Loha came around with her new ideas and her ‘magical touch’, if you will, she truly took my world by storm. After all, you know what they say: variety is the spice of life.”

  Tyr’s shark eyes took on a faraway look then, steeped in more recollection. Whether out of respect or some shared sense of nostalgia, the outrealmers too fell silent for a moment, each of them lost to their own thoughts.

  As was becoming more and more common of late, Serac couldn’t quite decide how to feel. On the one hand, she was happy for Tyr and Loha—and perhaps even a tiny bit envious of their seemingly perfect marriage. On the other, she couldn’t allow herself to dismiss all the red flags that had been planted on the way before she’d met the royal couple—the secrecy, the discontent among the people, the lies and accusations.

  Most of all, she couldn’t ignore the biggest flag of them all: a Narakite worm that had been allowed to gnaw at the Roots of the Realmtree for gods knew how long. Serac would have to be willfully dense or exceptionally oblivious to accept that ‘Mully’ had nothing to do with the only Rakshasa to have been around for the last 381 years.

  All questions she needed to get to the bottom of. But she had enough sense to know she won’t get the answers by asking them here.

  “Alright, enough gossip,” Zacko was the first to break the silence, sitting up straight and spitting out his toothpick as he did. “Before we all tuck in for the night, let’s take care of some business, shall we? First, Shark Bro, there’s a little thing your wife did that’s got me and Serac in a bit of a pickle. Now, I’m not telling you to go over your missus’s head, but I’m also not not telling you, if you catch my drift?”

  “You speak of the moratorium,” Tyr said with a prompt nod. He then clapped his bulksome hands, so loudly as to have made Serac jump, before turning them over to show his open palms. “Done. Consider it revoked. As of this Ksana and by my royal order, Wayfarers Zacarias Borges-Juventus and Serac Edin are entitled to full foraging rights throughout Stamgard and Rotgard. I only ask that you observe the local customs and remain respectful of your fellow foragers.”

  “That was easy,” Zacko observed, one eyebrow raised to indicate he perhaps had expected slightly more resistance. “Well then, let’s strike while the iron’s hot. Any chance you could ride that momentum of good vibes into granting us the Ascension Mandate too? I mean, we did kind of save one-third of your Realm from total ecological collapse.”

  Us and three others, Serac had nearly said aloud. But even she knew not to needlessly complicate matters.

  “That is true enough,” Tyr admitted with an appreciative smile, one that carefully hid his teeth, “but I’m afraid the process for earning a Mandate is… a little more structured than that. But tell you what, this leads nicely into what I wanted to propose to the two of you.”

  With that, the Yaksha king’s jovial face settled into a solemn expression—the same with which he’d earlier kicked off a grand feast. He now directed it between his two outrealmer guests.

  “Zacarias. Serac. How do you feel about joining my Kronvakt? Normally, there’d be an exam, an interview, a probation period… but, in your case, I believe we can make an exception. I’ll say your cave expedition was the exam, this chat the interview—both of which you’ve passed with flying colors, by the way—and as for probation, I’m sure I can find someone in the Kronvakt who’d be willing to take you under their fins for some on-the-job training. Well? What do you say?”

  Kronvakt. That elite regiment of the royal army made up entirely of Yaksha Wayfarers. Supposedly so elite, in fact, that they’d turn their noses up at a pair of Rotgardian twins who’d otherwise be more than qualified to join their ranks.

  Yet, as much as the notion of an ‘enlisted’ Wayfaring army—as well as the hypocrisy of denying the Tomasens while welcoming the outrealmers with open arms—went against everything Serac stood for, she still had to stop for a moment and weigh up the offer. Not least because the voice in her head wouldn’t let her off the hook without at least a show of consideration.

  “I know you’ll say no,” came Trippy’s pitch, right on cue, “but I still urge you to give it some thought. By accepting King Tyr’s offer, you kill two birds with one stone. First, stable employment and food source in a Realm that demands it. Second, a legitimate pathway to earning the Ascension Mandate, one that doesn’t involve turning the whole Realm against you. Lastly—and I don’t know if I should even be suggesting this—in case you do end up going for that Mandate the hard way… well, I can’t think of a better place to attempt it than from inside the Immortal’s own palace.”

  It was all Serac could do not to burst out in surprised laughter, which would’ve been quite strange indeed within the flow of the outside-voice conversation. But she took all of Trippy’s advice on board—both its predictable and unexpected portions—and came to her own conclusion.

  She glanced at Zacko before she announced her decision, but only as a matter of formality. Her Manusya partner met her gaze with his trademark sardonic grin, ever ready to roll with the punches.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Serac said with a confident smile to match Tyr’s genial one. “Zacko and I didn’t break free of our hellish chains only to serve a different master one Realm up. Besides, as far as I can tell, we’ve done nothing but descend so far, and now you’re asking us to skip all the way to the top of the Realm? Don’t you think that goes against the spirit of this whole climbing Mount Meru thing? No, we’ll go our own way. We’ll start right here from the Roots… and work our way up.”

  If the Realm Immortal took any offense at having his generous offer so emphatically rejected, he didn’t show it. Instead, his smile widened a touch, just enough to show some serrated bull-shark teeth.

  “I understand, and I can’t say I’m all that surprised,” King Tyr said. “Well, go forth then, Wayfarers. Seek your answers and chase your potentials. You have my blessing and well wishes, but know that my offer remains open, should you ever change your mind. Oh, and one more thing: may your Path never lead you astray for long.”

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