297) The Salvation of Eden, Chapter 61 — The Tale of Squirrelly

Morphing into squirrel-form was the strangest experience. Even though Reilly was getting the hang of it, she didn’t think she’d ever entirely get used to it. It wasn’t just her body that changed; her entire experience of reality changed as well. Smells suffused the landscape, new scents reaching her with every leap-step she took. The ground vibrated with energy that she could detect through little hairs all over her underside, allowing a whole symphony of previously unheard sounds and sensation into her awareness. And colours were just, different! Greens looked more like brown and grey, and reds looked similar to greens (although there was very little red to see in Graxia’s cavermous valley anyway).

But the detail! Details exploded all around her; she could spot them much faster than when she was a person because her eyes didn't have to shift for her to pick them out. It was just a matter of moving her mind from place to place, which happens instantaneously once you get used to it.

Being a squirrel was so much more fun than being a person. You could sense so much more! And DO so much more!

It took a minute to reorient and get situated in her body; after all, walking horizontally on four legs takes some practice. Although after the months she’d initially spent as Squirrelly, she made the transition pretty quickly.

Waving goodbye to the others, she scampered back down the little trail, feeling the immensity of Open Space above her. She felt immediately alert, like she was in danger at every moment. That was the other thing about being a squirrel. It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating; at any moment you could become a snack.

She watched the soldiers carefully as she snuck across the grounds. The middle section, in between the barracks and the combat area, was an uneven patch of ground with pieces of rock sticking out haphazardly. The soldiers avoided the area, which provided a safe halfway point from which she could get her bearings.

Once past the middle section and clear of the barracks, bounding across the bridge was easy, and so fun she actually shouted with glee, a tiny little squirrel-squeak of joy cast out into the gloom. There were two guards in the tower. And already, four heavily armed soldiers, decked out with longswords, spears, shields and chainmail, were standing watch under the spider statue.

The cavern was rapidly darkening, as the meagre light from above the forest petered out. Perfect time for a stealth-mission!

She scooted toward the stone houses, then up the walls, tiny claws easily gripping the rock as she ran, as comfortable running vertically as she was on the ground. Her mind whirled with exhilaration.

I LOVE being a squirrel!!!

She snuck from window to window, listening and smelling outside each one until she found Kryndine’s. (She’d recognize his old-man-smell anywhere.) Perching on the ledge, as comfortably as if it were an armchair, she listened.

Kryndine's bodyguard was moving around the room, laying his clean clothes out for the next day, organizing their gear, turning back the sheets on the beds. Squirrelly peaked through the slats in the shutters and watched her. She was a handsome woman, with strong features — a chiseled face, square jaw, bushy eyebrows, long bluish-black hair braided eloquently and wrapped around her head like the turbans of the Scarves who Reilly had once seen pictures of. She seemed to be pacing back and forth while Kryndine ignored her, focused as he was on writing into a small, leather-bound book that looked like a diary. Occasionally, she would stare at him, and the look was clearly unfriendly. Reilly was confused.

Why would he keep a bodyguard who hates him?

Then she saw the woman’s face as she turned towards the window. Both cheeks, and particularly around the eyes, were deeply rutted with scars. One of her lips had been horribly mangled, and she was missing an ear entirely. Reilly would have gasped audibly had she been a girl, but as a squirrel she merely let out a tiny squeak, then covered her mouth with her front paws. The woman looked up for a moment, right at her.

Reilly was so startled she almost fell off the ledge. But, she reminded herself, she was just a squirrel; the woman had no reason to think anything different. So she played it cool, and watched the woman, who still seemed to be watching her, surreptitiously, as though she didn’t want Kryndine to know anything was awry.

She looks so sad.

The woman smiled, startling Reilly anew.

Is she…is she smiling at ME? That’s impossible? Should I….

Then the woman turned away, and Kryndine rose slowly from his chair, grumped something unintelligible, and hobbled to the bathroom. Reilly listened to him pee, giggling a tiny Squirrelly-purr. Humans were SO LOUD!

A minute later, he returned, sat on the bed, and started undressing himself. The woman looked away, busying herself again with checking over their clothes for the next day.

Reilly thought about leaving to check the other rooms. This was an information-gathering mission after all, and she SHOULD find out what the others were doing as well. But something compelled her to stay, and as she watched, she realized, there was something wrong with the woman’s mind.

Reilly was fascinated. Kryndine spoke to her — her name was Jewellee — but she never spoke back, never nodded or gave any other indication she had heard him, except when he asked her to do something, like “take off my socks.” She obeyed instantly, almost mindlessly, like she was more than a bodyguard, more than a servant, even more than a slave. It was like he exerted direct control over her mind. Reilly decided Kryndine was a very bad man.

* * * * *

And it was on the knife point of this particular set of circumstances that the fate of the worlds may have balanced. An eight-year-old squirrel/girl’s immediate dislike of Kryndine, her curiousity and compassion for his slave-bodyguard, and her desire to leave her perch and check out the other rooms, were at war within her. In the end, she stayed, listening with increasing fascination to the one-sided conversation that unfolded right in front of her.

“Tomorrow’s a big day, Jewellee,” he murmured with a low chuckle.

She didn’t respond.

“Our biggest, I daresay. By this time tomorrow, we’ll have joined the ranks of the very, very wealthiest people in all of Eden.” His chuckle grew in volume. “Well, I will have anyway. Now unbutton my shirt. And listen carefully. You cannot screw this up for me, you hear?”

No response, but Jewellee promptly bent down and began to unbutton his shirt.

“I asked you a question. Did you hear me?”

“Yes Kryndine,” she answered softly, and again Reilly squeak-gasped. Jewellee’s voice was gorgeous, melodic, impossibly complex like she was a choir, singing harmony with herself. Reilly had never even imagined such a voice was possible.

Kryndine grinned (or rather, leered) at her. “That’s better. Now, brush my hair. You know how I like it.” As she reached for the brush and began to stroke, he gave her instructions for the coming exchange, very precise instructions, as though his mind-slave would carry out his instructions to the very letter and do precisely as she was told, and thus, he had to spell them out for her. Which meant that Reilly heard everything.

She heard about the ritual that Graxia would be performing, and about how ridiculous the other merchants thought these rituals were. She heard about how Graxia was insecure in her role, how she had only inherited the Zhaalmohhrian home a mere twelve years ago, and was still trying to prove that she was up to the job. She heard about how much of a stickler Graxia was for preserving the ancient traditions, right down to every word and gesture. She heard about the Binding that these rituals were supposed to accomplish, and how this secret knowledge had allowed the Zhaalmohhrians to establish themselves as the pre-eminent dealers of rare and powerful artifacts, how they were trusted to oversee the most sensitive of trades and were therefore privy to the most secret of secrets, how their tendrils of influence reached into every government in the worlds, at least, as far as Kryndine knew. And how, no matter what, Jewellee must ensure that this transaction go smoothly. She heard about how terrible it would be to have the Zhaalmohhrians as an enemy, and how enriching it had been for Kryndine himself, to have them as an ally.

She heard about where the weapon, the GiantSlayer, would be hidden until the bidding was over. And how it would be unguarded during the long Binding ceremony, save for Jewellee herself and the representative of the Buyer, who he was pretty sure would end up being Hewlin. As he put it, “Hargrin’s got more money than the rest of ‘em put together; she’ll win this bidding war eventually but she sure as Hells will have to pay through the nose.”

She heard exactly where Jewellee was to stand, exactly what she was to do, and most important of all, when it came time to reveal the Sword, exactly how she was to retrieve it from where it had been hidden.

This, Kryndine bragged, was his master stroke. This piece of strategic brilliance was, he claimed, the reason that he, Kryndine, had risen to the top of the underground weapons trading business. He always outsmarted his foes, always came out a winner. “Planning,” he crowed. “Planning, and balls. You gotta have the balls to do what nobody else would even think of doing. Then you win.”

Jewellee exhibited surprise, exclaiming in a rare moment of unbidden-speech that she thought that the GiantSlayer was in the safe in their room, where it was supposed to be, in the safe which Graxia had guaranteed was unbreakable.

He laughed. “And that, my dear Jewellee, is why I am me, and you, are just you. If you store the most valuable weapon in the worlds in exactly the place you are supposed to store it, you’re asking for the most skilled Thief in the worlds to come and steal it from under your nose.” He laughed again. “No, when it comes time for you to fetch the Sword, you go to our wagon, and crawl underneath. The rear axle, you’ll notice, is thicker than the front. On the left hand side, if you feel along, you’ll find a bump. Push it, twist it clockwise, and slide it toward the closest wheel. A little door will pop open and you’ll see the pommel.”

“Isn’t it easier to steal that way?” Jewellee’s melodic voice resonated so beautifully, Reilly prayed she would say more.

Kryndine’s gravelly laugh overrode her harmonies, however. “They’d have to find it first.” He leaned in closer to her. “And that is straight-up impossible. Nobody’s gonna look inside a muddy, donkey-crap-spattered axle. And it’s been hidden from the Flux. I’m not an idiot, you know. It’s like this room. The Zhaalmohhrians long ago protected this house so it’s impenetrable by the Flux. Even the Zhaal heir can’t break it. It is one of the few places in the worlds where we can be guaranteed that nobody can overhear, no matter who they are.”

Reilly grinned, her puffy little cheeks exaggerating their puff. You don’t know much about Druids. Ha ha. Idiot.

He chuckled again. “Besides, if, through some miracle, anyone does grab it, I’ll know instantly. This is the final step in your instruction, so listen well. When you grasp the pommel, you must first speak my command word, to deactivate my little surprise. Make sure you say it, BEFORE pulling the Sword out. Got it?”

Jewellee nodded dutifully.

He leaned in so close to her remaining ear that Reilly, straining as hard as she could from the window, could only make out “Mmmmnnnnnmmnnmmmnn.”

Jewellee nodded again. Kryndine lingered, close, nuzzling her neck, inhaling. The woman stiffened, but did not resist.

“I know you’ll do your job,” he cooed. “Now, double-check our equipment, and get yourself ready. The ceremony starts right after breakfast.”

Jewellee nodded, backing away and turning toward her bow, quiver and other items stacked on a second bed. As she moved past the window, she looked directly at Reilly. And winked. There was no mistaking it. The woman knew she was there! And, she was protecting her. Confused for a moment, Reilly realized in a flash, Jewellee must be pretending! She must be intending to betray Kryndine! Maybe she even intended to steal the GiantSlayer for herself!

In any case, it meant they had an ally.

Reilly scurried down the wall and started making her way back to the cave. She couldn’t wait to tell the others about all this! She was so excited, she almost ran right into a group of soldiers out for an evening jog around the encampment. But they paid her little mind, and before long, she was scurrying up the path, bursting to share her information.

Turning back into Reilly was a little easier this time. She didn’t even have to, quite, knock herself out. Devona and Kohra took Melkorn for a little walk to “do a security check on the tunnel,” and Lenny gave Squirrelly a few hard slaps across her little furry face. When Reilly popped back into form, her cheeks were beet red and her eyes brimmed with tears. Lenny wrapped her up in her arms right away, apologizing. But Reilly understood. There was no other way.