Gus rolled his head, trying to loosen his stiff neck. He wondered if he was frozen in the same position when he did a cube-dive. The transport door opened and a deep earthy scent wafted into the ship.
Glad I don’t have allergies, Gus mused as he breathed in the air redolent with pollen. Undertones of fungi also permeated the air. A small, barely noticeable trail left the clearing into the forest, and a light fog hung in the air. Not enough to obscure things close, but past fifty feet or so, the trees disappeared into the mist.
“Mmm, I love the smell of petrichor in the morning,” BoJack said while inhaling deeply, a content look spreading across his face.
It did smell nice. Fresh and clean, full of possibilities. Tempest left the ship with his brow furrowed and a sour look on his face as he resolutely marched down the path. Everyone filed after him, conversations quiet. The ferns and plants that lined the path dampened everyone’s legs as they proceeded along the path.
After a ten-minute hike, they began ascending a small hill, aspen trees lining the sides of the path. Their white bark blended with the fog and gave an ethereal look to the place. The branches that extended over the path reminded Gus of a sword arch he had seen at a wedding once, as he walked under the unique configuration of trees.
Tempest paused as they reached a plateau, as if gathering his strength, and then stepped forward. Reaching the same spot, Gus stepped onto something hard and looked at a fifty-foot circle. It looked like it was the remains of an enormous tree, but his mind rejected that there could ever have been a tree this size in existence. Its diameter dwarfed the redwoods he had seen on another family trip along the California coastline.
At the far end of the circle, a large emerald throne sat, with a skeletal female figure sat upon it, wearing a gauzy gray gown that looked eerily like spiderwebs.
As the group approached, Gus saw that the chair looked to be carved out of an enormous oak. Thick spongy moss covered the inner surface of the tree throne, the vibrant life in contrast with the bony arms draped on the armrests.
Gus wondered if she was dead as the gaunt figure sat reclined in the chair, unmoving. A couple of the Crew shuffled uncomfortably, glancing at each other. Tempest stood there calmly, waiting for the crone to acknowledge him. Biting his lip, Gus resolved to keep quiet.
A small vibration permeated the area, incredibly subtle. Once he became aware of it, it became impossible to ignore. All of a sudden it was gone, but Gus could still feel the residual resonance. Tempest stepped forward and kneeled on one knee. As he began to speak, the woman came to life and stared at him with sunken eyes that seemed to smolder like an ash-covered coal.
“Ask your question,” she intoned in a voice stronger than the frail body would indicate.
“I am searching for my wife, The Alchemist. We have no leads where she could have been taken and need your guidance.” The words came out stilted as Tempest struggled to get them out.
“Dean, son of Alan, what you seek is in Hinansho, and it will lead you to your wife. Is that all? Then begone, tempestarii.” She slumped back into her throne as before and the silence hung in the air.
After thirty seconds of quiet, Tempest finally deigned to stand again. Where was this task that everyone was concerned about? Tempest stared at the woman for another tense moment, but when nothing else was forthcoming, he turned to leave.
“But you…” A withered hand pointed at the crowd. Tempest looked over his shoulder, but she was not talking to him. Supers along the path of her finger pointed to themselves and stepped back as she shook her head. Gus stood there awkwardly as the old woman singled him out, cocking her head left and right as if seeing an oddity and trying to ascertain its function.
“Born of water, cleansed by flame, polished by air—and you yet have to embrace the earth and be born anew.” She sang the words, slightly off-key.
Before he knew it, the woman had crossed the distance and Gus felt unsettled as cold fingers caressed his cheek. He tried his best not to pull away or show any signs of revulsion that would offend the woman. He stared at her eyes, which he had mistaken to be milky white and blind when he first saw her, but up close, they appeared to shimmer with iridescence like pearls. Though he could see no pupils, this woman obviously was observing him closely. The scent of balsam accompanied her movements and the strong scent cleared Gus sinuses. The scent hit Gus like a wave from the compressed air of her sudden approach.
“And an oneiromancer too.” Her hand cupped to hold Gus’ jaw, turning his head slightly to view him from all angles. With the additional contact, her dry, rough hands felt even colder, and Gus became transfixed as he stared at her eyes, frozen like a deer in the headlights as she assessed him. She gave his cheek a playful pat. “But you have closed yourself off from even dreams. You have a knack for making things difficult for yourself, boy,” she chuckled wryly.
How does she know? Gus’ instincts told him to get away and flee, but the Oracle was not done with him. His stomach soured and tightened. He was already having difficulty fitting in with the other supers in the Crew; what revelations would this crone give out to further ostracize him from the others?
“You. You interest me.” She wagged a finger at him as she turned and walked back to her
