place. She and the soul fae had only had one another for company, year after year. They didn’t go out exploring. They didn’t know what the rest of Rothko looked like. Isolation could be hurtful in the long term.
I was actually eager to better understand the soul fae’s collective psyche. I also looked forward to getting out of here as quickly as possible so we could move things along with Anunit, but my anthropological curiosity had won this tiny battle, at least for the time being.
Tristan
On the other side of the village, beyond the last of the white stone igloo-style houses, a river flowed. It had been here for only five millennia, Sissa had told us. The fountains were independent streams and endless sources of clean water, but the river had been a pleasant surprise. Apparently, a massive earthquake had rocked the entire region five thousand years ago. The soul fae had not felt a thing, protected by the death magic bubble around their community, but Joy had thought it would come as a nice change of scenery to have the newly formed river passing through.
Ever since, the soul fae had made a habit of enjoying a community dinner once a week, with nectar from the orchids pouring freely. Apparently, these flowers had certain natural properties that enhanced the senses. “From their description of this stuff, it sounds a lot like the succubi’s spiced rose water,” I said to Unending as we gathered around a massive campfire built beside the rocky riverbank.
The people were bringing fruit platters and bowls of nectar, sharing them around the fire. Unending and I stayed with Loren, Sissa, and Joy. Clusters were forming—even at this low number, the soul fae couldn’t exactly all talk over dinner. Groups were bound to happen, and it illustrated the depth of their interpersonal relationships. The soul fae I’d seen in familial packs earlier were identically gathered around their fruits and nectar, few of them crossing over to other groups. It told me that they weren’t only isolated as a community. Sure, they got along, but they mostly kept to themselves and their families, plus a close friend or two at most.
“It’s always like this?” I asked, looking at Sissa.
“Like what?”
By now, we’d learned a bit more about their history, at least as far as the past couple thousand years were concerned. The soul fae kept an archive of documents, carefully preserved in the caves beneath the village with a little help from Joy, but they didn’t dwell too much on the distant past. Even so, two millennia were enough for me to get a better idea as to what kind of people they were and how their society functioned.
Any violent inclinations or tribal skirmishes were swiftly put out by the Reaper. Peace was more or less obligatory. Few had been the instances of murder or theft, as the soul fae had made a habit of reading one another’s intentions. They had trust as a currency, trading favors and thoughts for other goods. Some of them were better at working the land, while others were excellent craftsmen. The society itself was healthy, and Joy served as an enforcer—not only against any outside forces, but also against any elements within that could cause chaos or create disruptions.
“I don’t see a big gathering, exactly,” I told Sissa. “I was expecting you’d all sit by the fire and expand your conversations to the whole village, not just the family clusters.”
“Oh. I don’t know,” Sissa replied. “We’re fine like this. The dinner itself serves mostly to have us all in our collective company, but no one expects us to bond beyond the friendships we’ve already formed.”
“Yes. And it’s a little strange,” I said, then looked to Joy. “Have they always been like this? Normally, people in settings with bigger crowds enjoy shuffling through and talking to as many others as they can throughout the evening.”
“Parties. You are basically talking about parties.” Unending chuckled.
“And festivals. Symposiums. Any large gathering where people break away from their familiar circles and interact with acquaintances or even strangers,” I said, trying not to smile.
Joy raised a skeptical eyebrow, watching the fire burn, its orange tongue licking at the night sky. “They’ve always been like this. They’re shy, if you ask me.”
“We’re very sociable,” Loren replied, frowning. “Just with a limited number of people.”
“Good grief, a whole village filled with introverts.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “No wonder you’ve been living here so well, uninterested in going out and seeing