Yaro knocked on the living tree, a hollow sound echoing from behind the twin curtain door. She quickly hid her hand back in the cloak, pulling it shut. It would be best not to scare her only lead off, at least not so quickly. Maybe she should use her form as a means of intimidation?

“Welcome, please come in,” an old raspy voice called.

Yaro parted a curtain with her ethereal hand and slid inside. Opposed to her assumption, Egra’s hut was just as chilly and humid as the surrounding fen, she must not have climate control.

She wasn’t sure what to expect, but Egra’s hut would have fit any imagination. Something warm, sweet, and cooking wafted through the air with a subtle spice that could not have been a part of the meal. That smell --Yaro couldn’t figure out why she thought-- could only be from years of incense burned into the breathing wood of the tree-hollow home. Waiting on shelves molded from the tree were pots, pans, and other tools that might or might not have been for cooking. Nothing was carved, a skilled floralkenistat had a hand in keeping the tree alive while morphed.

Papers, plants, burnt things, and other odds and ends chaotically littered every surface in a way that the owner would know where everything was. Strings of beads chimed against the minor turbulence Yaro brought by entering.

From behind some of those beads emerged a muzoval dressed in braided soft fabrics of purple, blue, and teal that dangled at her sides. Her scathers that were neither feathers nor quite scales were green, dulled with years upon years of wisdom. Her wings hung low, likely not feeling the thermals in quite some time.

With a wrinkled paw, she gestured to one of the velvet cushions surrounding the central stout stone table. “Please, have a seat. I hope you’re hungry, the ghrepul stew is just about done. It has some potatoes and veggies in it, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No thank you,” Yaro said, keeping to the doorway. She would not trust any pleasantries. This far-seer must either be very fortunate or powerful to have a meal in time for her unplanned visit. She would not take the chance with the latter, she may even already know her secret, just like the other one. She gave no sign that she did know, but it would be safer to assume. And, though there were so many unknowns she readied for, a coiling came in her belly telling her she would not be ready for what drew near.

She should end this as soon as she could. In a sweeping gray smoke, she pulled all two-thousand Fuur she’d pilfered since here Atho left. She gritted her teeth, she would have a much larger bargaining chip if she didn’t have to discard the jyk. The flame burned not nearly as bright. “I need to find someone.”

“Do not curve to Yon, you’ve come such a long way. Ashum, one of my favorite students, he’d already informed me of your plight. Please, have a seat, Yaro”

Had she told the previous far-seer her name? She reluctantly moved to the seat, staring intently before lowering herself gently. It gave such little support on touch that she nearly fell back before it solidified and cradled her.

Egra gracefully placed two bowls on either side of the table with ethereal limbs. She dipped her head saying, “I’m sure you could spare a few minutes to eat.”

“No, I can't, you’re going to tell me what I need to know.” Yaro sat as straight as she could. Egra raised her beak from the bowl, dripping steaming liquid. “Now.”

“Such rudeness will not get you far in life. Have a bowl and relax, you’ve come such a long way.”

“You will tell me what I need to know.” She may have played this too early, but she was tired of waiting, of not knowing. If she was going to get run out of town before she could answers, she’d rather rip that blood-soaked sleeve off quickly. She spread her wings, her cloak flew off her back and fell in a heap. She exposed herself, a flame burning bright in her chest of anger, anxiety, and embarrassment. “Look at me, I don’t have time to sit around and eat soup. I need to find my Atho before it’s too late!”

Egra gently set her bowl back on the table without a sound. “It will take a lot more to frighten an old hag like me. I guess you haven’t heard the stories of me, a shame Ashum didn’t warn you. I don’t care what you look like, what your plight is, or how badly you may need information. From all that I’ve seen, I know good things will find those who seek them with honey, not lye.”

Yaro heaved, not realizing her hands dripped with embers, flames coming to command without a conscious will. She grabbed hold of it, not letting it overtake her but be used as a tool. She stoked the embers, adding more kindling with heavily breathed words of encouragement. Her tattoos burned their sigils and the drizzling embers flooded with a broken damn of flames. “You may have seen a lot in your life, but I know you haven’t seen anyone like me before. I don’t have the respect you do and I am willing to do absolutely anything to get my Atho back. You will tell me what I need to know.”

“You’re escalating this too quickly, Yaro, you still have much to learn about the art of haggling. Your threats don’t mean anything to me. I’ve lived my life, shared my knowledge, and have accepted that it won’t be long before I die. I had hoped to die quietly in my home, but a bombastic death may better suit me.” She chuckled rocks. “Besides, I may be the only one in Kald who can help you. Now sit back down and eat, I’m sure you’ll feel better when your belly is full, you can’t have your thoughts muddied.”

Yaro burned for a few seconds longer, thinking whether or not to take a step forward. The flames died and she sat down. She pulled the cloak over her body, leaving her face exposed. She picked up the bowl and gobbled down the salty chunks of ghrepul, potato, carrot, and greens. She greedily guzzled the rest of the liquid, not realizing how both hungry and thirsty she was. She set the bowl back on the table in a clatter. “I did as you asked, now will you help me?

Egra continued to sip her bowl, all four eyes closed like there wasn’t a thing in the world she worried about. More sipping; she didn’t put the bowl down. Minutes of sipping between silence went by. Yaro physically bit her tongue to keep herself in check. She wanted to tear this old lady a new hole, but that shouldn't help her. It would, at least, get her aggression out.

Egra placed the bowl down, blessedly empty. Her eyes didn't open and they spent some more time in silence. A test was Yaro’s assumption. Egra wanted to see what Yaro would do, probably ready to refuse her service as soon as anything was broken. So Yaro waited, and waited, and waited.

Finally, Egra opened her glassy eyes. Was she crying? Yaro stared daggers at her,

“I do require payment, but not of the fiery kind. No, what I require is far more personal, a sacrifice you will need to make to me.” Yaro felt her aura, she exhumed mischievousness. Yaro gritted her teeth. “What I require from you, you may not be able to part with. 

My payment will be your memories.”

Yaro hunched forward. Memories? As in memories of her Atho? That wasn’t good. She knew what it meant, that Egra would want to enter her mind, rummage around through there. It made sense, Yaro’s connection to her Atho could be drawn out from her memories.

“You can take time to think about this decision. It doesn’t have to be today,” Egra said.

It did have to be that day. If she needed a link, there was something nearly as precious Yaro could use. With a smooth stream of smoke, she brought her ring to her hands under the cloak. Wasn’t this the reason the previous sight-broker, Ashum, had recommended Egra, because she was better at attuning to a link? “Would an object with deep sentimental attachment work instead?”

She brought out the ring in the palm of her hand. Her eyes went wide and the soup she just ate clawed at her throat trying to escape. Swallowing, she welled with tears. The ring no longer was simple, no longer was her Atho’s ring. 

It was becoming her ring. 

Green-teal glassy and smoky spheres with cracks of glowing red scored the surface. This was going to happen eventually, but now was the worst time. It had become hers, her aura manifested on it. This should be a happy moment, a spiritual proof of her love. But now it was hers and hers and hers. It may not be able to be used as a link any longer. She openly wept. 

“Do not cry dear, I could not use that in the first place. My particular skills lie in memories, your mind's lingering attachment creates links to the past, to the people, places and things you’ve experienced, even to things that aren’t quite real. They are more potent than anything physical.”

Yaro’s ring was ruined! She wanted to crush it in her hand and to cradle it, to somehow take away her essence from it and back into her. Things became blurry as the tears overwhelmed her, dripping vile acidity that was her. She ruined everything, she had no right to exist or to have any proof of that. She clenched the ring, ready to throw it, to keep it as close to her heart as physically possible.

“Yaro, is everything all right?” Egra asked. “You do not have to part with your ring, is what I’m saying. Ashum should have already told you it would not help.”

Yaro coughed up something that wasn’t quite blood. She croaked, “You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t,” she said. “As I said before, we do not need to do anything now.” She paused, clacking her gnarled talons that grated Yaro’s ears. “You seem to be under some duress, I think you should go take a walk and come back.”

“No!” Yaro shouted. She would not explain her weakness to this stranger, nor let her slip away. Should deal with this later, her heart felt like something stabbed it, she was here for a reason. “You will give me the information I seek.”

Egra waved her paw, trailing incense behind it. “Some people find pleasure in smoke, others in drink, others in dreams. People want an escape of pleasure.” Yaro held her tongue, she didn’t really care where the old bag wanted to wax poetic to. Egra swirled the smoke into a ball, whispering something into it before continuing, “Memories, on the other hand, hold both pleasure and pain, motivation and resentment. They’re a thrill ride, like going to a tragedy play. I have a vice too, I need that thrill ride. I may be sharing too much, but I need others to feel normal. I lost who I was a long time ago, and your memories, I can just tell they will be delectable.”

Egra was crazy, was one thought amidst a torrent. The next, “Why would you tell me this?”

“Because,” Egra said, gently pushing the smoke ball away, “we will need to be fully open with one another in order to find your Atho.”

Yaro clutched her ring. “I have been open with you.”

“Not as much as I need.”

“Fine,” Yaro said, drool flying, “You want to know me, fine. This ring, this one right here, this is me. Look at me, see my very essence.” She hurled the ring. It clanked against Egra’s beak.

Egra flinched, then picked it up with an ethereal hand. She handed it back to Yaro. Acid ran down Yaro’s throat as she returned it to her holder. She could not bear the presence of it any longer. Egra stood up, Yaro didn’t know how long she’d been standing herself. Egra said, “You should keep that. What I mean by delectable was that, Yaro, you will not keep your memories. This is my payment.”

“I can’t do that,” Yaro dripped. She glowered over the old lady, eyes burning with an intensity that she was sure now permeated even the walls. This may be the only lead she had, but this was not worth it. Now, without her… She had nothing but memories of her Atho to hold on to. “There must be some other way.”

“If you’ve come to me, there isn’t.” Egra kept her wrinkled eyes focused on Yaro, standing so still she could have been mistaken for a corpse.

Yaro did not trust her, she did not know her at all. And not only was she asking for access to her mind, but to take from her. An honest thief she would not be, she was sure to make her forget anything else she made, took, or saw. But what was there for her? Yaro had nothing to her name, Egra had already refused every piece of Fuur she had, too. She had no family to extort, she didn’t have any special… She had secret knowledge.

“Yaro,” she said, taking a step forward, “I admitted my vice to you to help you understand. But it is also part of my process, why I am able to find anyone and anything. Only I can help you, and the cost to you is your memories, I cannot accept anything else.”

“What if I have you a specific memory? Maybe one that would be worth your while?”

“As I have stated, I need memories that link me to your search. Unless that memory would do that, it does not matter to me how precious, how special, or how world-breaking the memory may be.”

“Listen here old lady, I can’t just give you my memories.” This wasn’t worth it, she turned towards the door, pulling her cloak tightly over her body. She couldn’t spend any longer there, she had to go find him. But where would she go? She’d find that later.

She stopped at the precipice. Natrai’s voice came not in her ears, but through her body. “Do whatever you can for your family, they would the same for you.”

Here of all places? She had left so long ago, yet those yon-bound quotes still plagued her. And what was worse, they were always true, no matter how to the contrary things seemed. No matter how badly she’d been beaten by one of the house mates, or how badly they would beat each other, Natrai always had some sage advice that would put everything right. And, when the time came, in the heat of the moment, everyone in that home would drop dead to help one another. Yaro herself saw that zealous bastard take a thunder-spear to the shoulder when she laid helpless on the ground. It took months to heal, and countless prayers, and an eternity of lectures.

And Yaro’s Atho was so much more than any of them had been.

She turned back. Egra hadn’t moved at all. She spoke in a voice she didn’t know could be so controlled, “I accept the price.”

“Such an about-face, Yaro. Are you sure you want to continue now?"

“Shut up and tell me what I need to do.”

“Very well.” Egra led Yaro behind the beads, to a room similar to her mentee’s, Ashum’s. Instead of a crystal ball in the center, the tree molded into a long table with runes carved all throughout. “Strip.”

“Excuse me?”

“Remove your clothes and lay on the table,” Egra said, pulling something off the shelf and opening it. It smelled of olives and citrus. “Once you do, I will rub this on your temples.”

Yaro did as the lady bade. She could feel herself shaking, unsure if it was out of fear or residual anger. She had so much to be angry for, so much she wanted to do. Was this the best choice, trusting another stranger? Trusting wasn’t quite the right word, but she didn’t know how to describe the situation she was in. Her memories, would they really be gone? “Once I know where he is, without my memories, what would I have to live for?”

“Why would you live for someone else?” The old muzoval rubbed the olive concoction onto her temples. It felt wonderful, melting into her skin and scales, granting a reprieve from an itch so archaic, she’d forgotten it was there. “But I understand your worry. Though you may not fully remember him, that attachment you feel, that link between you two, it will remain. Any feelings you have are not something I consume, just the facts of it.”

The incense filled her, sending her into a calm she’d long forgotten about. Drowsiness, was that what she was feeling? It was… Nice? It was hard to tell, like everything else. She eased her eyes closed.

Egra continued to rub her temple. “Let yourself fall. I will be by your side.”

She felt the entrance. Her gate was up, she blocked everything and everyone. But Egra permeated it, like smoke through a grate. This was a ridiculous idea. She should leave, fight. Come all this way to be told she would lose everything, just like that? She lost her ring just then, soon to be followed by her entire Atho. Maybe it would be better to let go, fall away from these painful emotions and mortal attachment into the abyss? She floated down, sinking deeper into herself, behind her consciousness.

Egra was there, and Yaro saw her. An old lady, a shadow of someone who was once great. She was snippets, unsure if Egra allowed their viewing or not, of a life bumping with nobles. She helped a queen find her lost child. She found someone for herself, a life never fully lived together. She was called by one of the Kexist Oligarchs to find a criminal of war. She lost her own Atho to someone who wanted revenge. She ran herself ragged with her work, slowly losing bits and pieces of herself through the years. She took up hermitage before accepting one pupil in Ashum. She longed for a deep connection she would never be able to receive.

Then, it was Yaro’s turn.