The white plaster buildings in the town square were reminiscent of the houses she’d seen along the cliffs, though none were more than two stories high. Tiny market shops lined the square, and crates full of fruits, vegetables, and fish spilled out from underneath sun-worn awnings in muted hues of ocher and saffron. A few humans dressed in the simple garb of farmers and fishermen milled about, with nary a Fae in sight besides the muscle-y one brooding next to her.
Then Cassandra’s gaze caught on a pair of crimson wings attached to a hulking body inspecting oranges across the square.
“Hella!” Tristan shouted.
The female Windrider pivoted towards him, a broad smile lighting up her face and her golden eyes shimmering in the fading sunlight. Hella paid the shop owner for the fruit, then chomped into it whole as she stalked over to join them.
“You eat the skin?” Cassandra asked, her mouth pitched down in disgust.
“Yes, no waste,” Hella answered around a mouthful of pulp and pith. “Is good for you. Make you big and strong.”
Cassandra wasn’t sure she believed that, though Hella’s stature was undeniable evidence of the possibility.
“When did you get here?” Tristan asked. “I wasn’t sure if you got my message since you never responded.”
“I just arrive. And why waste wind?” Hella shrugged. “I see you when you get here.” She finished devouring her orange, then rubbed her hands together, wafting a sharp aroma of citrus through the salty sea air and smoky scent of a grill fire burning in a nearby restaurant.
“So,” Cassandra turned to Tristan. The bemused grin he typically wore had flattened into a tight line of…some wary emotion. Not concern or distaste. Edginess? Cassandra could understand that, given the stakes of their current mission here in Vaengya. But even in the most dire of circumstances, she’d rarely seen him look so troubled. “I don’t suppose the Artisan told you exactly where we should be looking for this necklace, did she?”
“She did not,” Tristan answered, surveying the square with distant eyes. He re-focused on Cassandra, noting her questioning stare, and attempted a faint smile. “This town was beloved by someone I once knew. Many lifetimes ago.” Cassandra wanted to pry, dig deeper, but restrained herself. “Do you remember anything from Sister Aritia’s memory? Any clue of where to start looking?”
A ghostly marble face floated into Cassandra’s mind. “Is there a Church of the Forgotten here? I saw a flash of Nemosyna’s statue that I assumed was from the Church in Thalenn. But it’s possible it was from here in Vaengya.”
“Let’s find out.” Tristan strode into the square towards an older man on a creaky bench, feeding bread to an unruly flock of seagulls. “Excuse me, sir!”
The man looked up from the attention-seeking birds, his snowy eyebrows jumping at the sight of Tristan and Hella.
“Second group of Fae visitors today,” the man said in a time-worn rasp.
“Other Fae was here?” Hella demanded. “When? Where they go?”
The old man shook his head, scooping up a handful of bread cubes and scattering them at his feet, inspiring a renewed frenzy among his feathered beggars. “Didn’t see ‘em. Only heard about it. Folks said they were lookin’ for some treasure, askin’ around. Weren’t very friendly ‘bout it neither.”
“Who saw them? Would they be willing to talk to my colleague here?” Tristan asked, clapping a hand on Hella’s meaty shoulder.
The old man surveyed the group with narrowed eyes, then grunted, “Ask around the pub.” He nodded towards the building behind him, the source of an enticing scent of grilled fish.
“I go,” Hella said, perking up. She aimed for the pub. “No rush!”
“Is there a Church of the Forgotten here in Vaengya?” Tristan asked.
The man hooked a thumb over his shoulder towards the cliff’s edge. “Down by the water. In the split between the cliffs on the black sand beach. Don’t get much use though. Hard trip down there ‘less you got wings.” The man eyed Tristan’s beauties enviously.
“Thank you,” Tristan shouted as he scooped up Cassandra and pushed into the sky with a booming flap.
Fearing death by predator more than death by starvation, the gulls scattered and their benefactor squawked an amused chuckle.
* * *
Tristan landedon the black sand with a crunch, then set Cassandra down.
“Atmospheric,” he quipped, gazing at a Church of the Forgotten unlike any he’d ever seen.
Nestled at the back of the crevice, the entire structure was carved into the gray rock. Waves of black sand poured from a wide square opening framed by two columns. Rectangular alcoves bracketed the columns, filled with unlit candles and a myriad of trinkets and mementos—oyster shells, pearl necklaces, dried bunches of flowers, even a few pieces of rotting fruit. Offerings to Nemosyna from the citizens of Vaengya, to guard them against obliviation. Lazy flies circled, the drone of their microscopic wings echoing off the cliffs.
As Tristan and Cassandra approached the Church’s gaping maw, he turned back to the stretch of black beach. The sun was minutes away from slumber, a shimmering, golden pool on the horizon that melted into the surrounding waters. Though Tristan’s Fae eyesight would allow him to see within the darkened Church, Cassandra would be nearly blind; they’d need a light source.
He marched through the sand, the ground sloping slightly upwards, and plucked a fat candle from one of the alcoves. Striking the end of his dagger against the stone wall, he used the barest puff of wind to coax the spark into a flame before he handed the lit candle to Cassandra.
