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Summary
"Are you always this reckless?"
Varka can do nothing but grin. "Believe it or not, dear Lightkeeper, but this is me having grown out of my reckless phase."
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In which Varka gets injured, isn't prepared for the Ratnik he seeks out for help to be so beautiful, and Flins collects shiny rocks. -
Bookmark Notes:
“I don’t believe so,” the bartender tells him. “But it’s harder on us without the Ratniki around.”
“The Ratniki?”
“Lightkeepers,” Demyan explains, passing the fresh drink over. “They would fight the Wild Hunt to keep Nod-Krai’s people safe, but they’ve died out over the last fifty years or so.”
“Are there none left?”
“There are plenty of legends, but no one really knows for sure. They’re an elusive bunch, always have been. Some say they’ll even disappear inside their lanterns if you look at them wrong.”
“And according to these legends,” Varka begins, licking the foam from his upper lip, “how exactly would you go about finding one?”
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“Then you might try Final Night Cemetery,” Flins finally says. Varka watches him form the words, wonders if perhaps the four beers are finally getting to him. But no, he’s still only tipsy. “Northeast of Paha Isle; there’s a lighthouse there. It’s where their fallen have been laid to rest.”
“I see,” Varka says. His gaze dips. Strong shoulders, a narrow waist.
A lantern hanging from Flins’ hip.
“Thank you very much for the lead.”
____
The discoloration is still there. The same stubborn, unhealing scab. “It’s like a nice salve,” he tells her. “Not a cure, unfortunately. I appreciate you trying, though. Just feel a bit bad you had to cut yourself to do it.”
“A small thing, to ease the suffering of others,” she says, bowing her head. “I’m sorry I cannot help more than this.”
“No worries at all.” He smiles and tugs his old bandages back up for now, leaving her blood in case it’ll help more over time. His shirt falls back into place. “I was told I should seek out a Lightkeeper for expertise on the Wild Hunt and their ailments. Final Night Cemetery is my next stop. Is there any chance you might have some information on that?”
Her lips part and close. “There are few of them left.”
A grin finds its way to his face. He’s never been one to back down from a challenge. “A few is more than none, so I like my odds,” he says. “Anything you can tell me about them is a help.”
For a moment, she just studies him, conflict in her expression. She still clutches her bleeding hand close to her chest. “Whoever mentioned Final Night Cemetery is likely on the right track,” is what she tells him. “But the fog is thick there, and it may be a dangerous trip to make.”
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“You realize you’re paying good money for a handful of fairy tales, right?” she asks.
Varka laughs at her incredulity. “Yes,” he says. “I’m well aware, Miss Nefer, but I have my reasons, so anything you might know will be of great use.”
“Very well then,” she says, the cat turning to a purring puddle under her hands as she strokes it. “There’s a particular story that comes to mind about a lantern fae.”
“Oh?”
“It’s said that if you’re ever lost in the fog and see a blue light, you’re to follow it with your eyes closed and you’ll be protected from the Wild Hunt.”
Varka takes a slow sip of the tea she’d offered him, the cup cream-colored porcelain trimmed with gold. The tea is a strong Sumerian blend, earthy and bitter despite the two sugars he’d added to his. “A blue light,” he repeats as he sets the cup back down on its saucer. “Do most Lightkeepers burn blue flames?”
“No,” Nefer says. “Most use these short, cylindrical lanterns that emit yellow light. That’s why this particular story stands out. That, and the fact that sightings of this lantern fae are far more recent than of any other Lightkeepers.”
“I see. And what exactly would happen if one were to follow this lantern with their eyes open?”
She seems to find this funny, laughing a little as she lifts the cat and uncrosses her legs to set it in her lap. “Well, Sir Varka,” she says, “I suppose you’d be left to fight off the Wild Hunt on your own. The Ratniki don’t like to be looked at.”
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