Chương 183: 7. Not Any Drier

I take back every complaint I ever made about the heat back in Stebaari. You'd think, after traveling north out of the gosh dang desert, that the weather would get cooler, and it did—sort of. Except it's still summer and we're not that much further north, and even now that the flood waters have receded enough that the ground is walkable—albeit muddy as all heck—the air is disgustingly humid.

One step outside is all it takes to almost instantly coat us in a layer of moisture, to the point that it's hard to tell where our sweat ends and the humidity begins. And believe me I am sweating.

"It'll be even worse come the equinox," Remi informs me sardonically as we pick our way through the swamp her tribe has settled on.

"The nights are getting darker and soon the Goddess' light will fall behind the great wheel." She's giving me a tour of the not-village—though it's hard to call it a fleet now that everything is on more or less solid ground. I hadn't actually noticed the nights getting darker, but now that she mentions it, that's true. It's getting closer to autumn—the word for which means "waxing twilight" in Fa'aun.

"Then it will be cooler, though, right?" I ask.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Colder, yes," Remi concedes.

"Not any drier, though." Oh. Yeah, I can see how that might be a problem. The muggy air is uncomfortable, but Fa'aun don't sweat as much as humans, so the loss of evaporation isn't such a big deal and there's no shortage of places to cool off in a wetland. In the cold, though? The same fur they rely on to keep warm becomes a liability if it's wet, and that doesn't have easy solutions.

"Is that why your tribe keeps their fur trimmed so close?" I didn't want to mention it after how often I've heard shaving used as a threat—Fa'aun are quite particular about their fur—but nearly everyone in the Degala tribe has their body fur trimmed down almost to the skin.

"Clever guess," she replies.

"It grows faster in winter, and we'll need it once the freeze starts, but in the cold parts of the wet seasons it's better to trim it. Other clans find it unseemly, but I'll take their scorn over freezing to death." Our conversation lulls naturally as we reach the edge of the lake. Without all the giant mangroves and swamp grass in the way, I can see clear across the shimmering blue surface to the mountains on the other side.

A thick mist clings to the sides of the mountain, drifting down through the rainforests like a ghostly serpent. It is, I have to admit, extremely beautiful, even if the thought of actually being in those mists sends a shiver down my spine. As if it's not already wet enough. On the lake itself, Degala tribe fishing boats are hard at work collecting the tribe's food for the day. Further in, close to the mountains, I can see one of their biggest—and only—permanent structures, their shipyard.

Remi gestures towards them proudly.

"The lake is slightly salty—though not as much as the sea—so the fishing remains good year-round," she explains.

"Though the yield is much smaller when the surface begins to freeze, and we have to take care not to overfish in the summer."

"You really don't do any farming?" I ask, surprised.

"It's difficult, with all the flooding," she sighs.

"I know that there are ways of controlling the water's flow to prepare permanent fields, but our tribe doesn't have the knowledge and in truth, we've never needed it. We get by on fishing and trade—or we did." Her face twists into a complicated frown.

"With Shaa hostile, trade with the mainland may become untenable," she admits.

"Other coastal regions are just as dependent on them as we are. The Blessed Lands still treat with us despite their embargo against the empire—thank the Goddess—but without the Sagaa river as a return route, the round trip is far too long. None of which would have been a problem if my grandmother—" She cuts herself off and takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes.

"I don't blame you, truly, and I shouldn't be taking out my frustrations on a stranger." I smile apologetically and give her my best Fa'aun-style bow.

"You've every reason to be frustrated. You may not blame us, but it's still our fault your tribe is in danger before the cold season." Although at least some of that danger could have been avoided by keeping better stockpiles, but that's probably not necessary to add right now. Remi chuckles and shakes her head.

"Not that much danger. If need be, we'll just take the entire tribe ringward to warmer waters." I blink.

"Wouldn't that mean abandoning your tribal claim?" She shrugs.

"We have little attachment to the land itself, and the protection of the empire is worth little if their most powerful nobles are choking our tribe to death." I crouch down and pick at the muddy grass as I think, encountering the familiar spines of a stingroot patch—dang, this stuff really does grow everywhere. It's past the fruiting season from what I remember of Draga's survival lessons, so I carefully pull it out by the root.

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"That's not an easy decision, is it?" I ask rhetorically.

"You said it's a long journey to the Blessed Lands, and that's across actual ocean. The storms are going to be really bad when the weather starts changing." Remi looks down at me with wide eyes.

"I'm surprised you'd know of that. It's not common knowledge—did Jira teach you?" I shake my head, still digging for more stingroot as I answer.

"We're new to this world, but we're—well, I guess you could say that we're well-learned where we come from." It feels like a joke to say it when we hadn't even graduated college, but that still places us way ahead of the curve when it comes to common knowledge in this world. We've got a lot of blind spots when it comes to the specifics of how this world works, but we can still make educated guesses.

"It was Vi who realized it," I admit.

"She's the smart one. The shift from hot to cold seasons is pretty stark where the rings—sorry, the Great Wheel—casts its shadow. We don't know much about the weather patterns here, but one thing we know is that when big masses of warm and cold air collide, they make a mess." Probably a huge oversimplification, but none of us are experts in the first place. Still, we all agree that being in a tropical ocean during a dramatic shift in temperature is probably going to be a bad time.

"Hmm, I didn't know that was what caused it," Remi mutters.

"You're right that it is a difficult decision. The journey is perilous. Perhaps we'd be better off, in the short term, simply staying and fending off starvation as much as we can by foraging. People die either way." She squats down next to me, digging through the mud with practiced efficiency that puts my clumsy attempts to shame.

"Vi," I whisper, not to be outdone. I sigh and silently cast [Faerie Fire] to illuminate the remaining traces of the stingroot patch. It's a little disorienting switching back and forth like that, but this is a harmless way to practice it. Remi casts me a curious glance.

"Why didn't you do that in the first place?" I blush.

"I forgot I could—or rather, I can't. That was Violet for like, one second." She hums thoughtfully and we make quick work of the rest of the patch, collecting a nice bundle of the versatile weeds. Remi nods in thanks as I toss them into a basket that she carries on her back for this exact purpose—we've been multitasking while she shows me around.

"We'll survive this winter one way or another," she assures me, bringing the conversation back on topic.

"The question is whether we'll manage the next, and what the cost will be." I chew on my lip, uncomfortable with even the secondary responsibility of so many potential deaths. How the heck does Remi do it?

"Is there any way we can help?" I ask.

"I don't know much about wetland farming, but maybe—" She shakes her head.

"You are a guest. And in truth, incomplete knowledge may be a greater danger than none at all." Reluctantly, I nod—though I'm still going to ask Fargo and Talla if they know anything about it later. I can't stand the thought of just sitting idle while the tribe struggles because of problems I caused.

"Still, please tell us if there's any way we can help," I offer.

"I don't want to be a freeloader like Fargo." She snorts and rolls her eyes. For just a moment, I catch a soft smile on her face before she smothers it with a scowl. Oh yeah, there's definitely still something there.

"That worthless layabout isn't worth the comparison," she scoffs.

"If you want to help, I can send you with the next foraging expedition to use that skill. Otherwise, I thank you for listening, but let me worry about the tribe." I give her another bow in thanks.

"I'm sure Violet would be happy to. Don't hesitate if you think of anything else."

"I won't, believe me," she chuckles. We make our way back towards the... camp? Oh, to heck with it—the village. She's already shown me everything she needed to, and the main purpose was to show us how to get between the river, lake, and village without getting lost among the giant mangroves. Those things are crazy up close, with roots the size of regular tree trunks that form labyrinthine pathways through the muck.

"So, what's the story between you two anyway?" I ask to fill the silence.

"Hmm?" she asks.

"Who do you mean?"

"Fargo," I clarify.

"There's obviously a history there—you're both terrible at hiding it." Remi crosses her arms and drifts half a pace away from me as she answers.

"There's nothing to tell, really," she says with badly forced nonchalance.

"He visited a long time ago—came on foot, would you believe it? Through the desert and across the mountains without even knowing exactly where we were settled. I'm not convinced he even knew we were here." A flicker of amusement crosses her face before she once again forces it aside.

"He stayed for a while, as a guest, and then he left." I purse my lips. There's a hole in that story large enough for Jira's ship to sail through, but I'm not sure it's worth pressing on if she doesn't want to talk about it.

"That's it?" I hedge, preparing to drop it there if she shuts down any further.

"That's it," she agrees, her face tightening into a severe expression.

"Apart from the fact that he took our chieftain with him, then went missing for four years," she hisses.

"We thought she was dead. People still mistakenly call me chieftain to this day." I mean... if the shoe fits. Not that I'm about to say that, of course. I know better than to get in the way of a good rant.

"But eventually, my grandmother returned, as I knew she would, as she always does," she sighs, then stops and turns to meet my eyes.

"Fargo did not. His arrival here with your party was the first time I've seen him in a decade." I grimace and hiss through my teeth. Okay, yeah, deserved. I had half a mind to see if I could mend that bridge, but now I'm not sure it's worth mending. In fact, I'm now a bit worried about our flighty companion. He's very careful to treat Taaka and Nipper like people, but I hope he hasn't forgotten how to treat people like people.

"I'm so sorry for bringing it up," I apologize.

"No need," she waves me off with a smile.

"If nothing else, I'm happy to see Taaka again. She almost makes his presence worth it." Once again, I realize, it's the smaller of that duo doing the heavy lifting. How much of Fargo's vast network of connections are actually attributable to the little cat-ferret? I remind myself to give Taaka extra treats next time I see her. Can't hurt to stay on her good side.