6: Broken Fortress by Ginn Hale Page A

Jath’ibaye’s skin. Already, his hair was beginning to curl into disordered locks.
    “What we see above the ground are just the mushrooms’ fruiting bodies. Many of them only fruit every ten or twenty years. The rest of the time they lead existences that are invisible to us, but they are integral to entire forests.” Jath’ibaye gazed at the glossy red mushrooms almost affectionately. “Sometimes they remind me of you.”
    “Mushrooms?” Kahlil laughed.  
    “It’s not a bad thing,” Jath’ibaye protested.
    “I know,” Kahlil said. “You’re probably the only man who would compare me to a fungus and mean it as a compliment.”  
    “It’s just the hidden nature of what you both do.” A hint of red crept up Jath’ibaye’s face. “I shouldn’t be trying to talk. Everything is coming out wrong.”
    “Sleep might help that problem,” Kahlil suggested.
    “I know. I should just go to bed.” Jath’ibaye stood as if to bid him good night and see him out but then hesitated at Kahlil’s side. He said, “If you aren’t too tired, I would like to show you one last thing.”
    “I’m not the one who’s asleep on his feet,” Kahlil replied. “Sure. Show me what you’ve got.”
    Jath’ibaye gave a short laugh at that and then shook his head before Kahlil could ask why. He said, “Come back to my bedroom and have a look.”  
      As Kahlil followed Jath’ibaye into his bedroom, his heartbeat quickened irrationally.
    Here too, the several Wardian cases and glass terrariums brimming with lush botanical specimens lent the cold stone walls the illusion of summer. Earthy scents permeated the atmosphere. Worn leather tomes littered the few shelves not overflowing with vegetation. A wooden writing desk and chair stood beside a larger table—the top of which appeared to be entirely engulfed by mosses and ground covers. It took Kahlil a moment to notice Jath’ibaye’s simple bed and dresser pushed back into a far corner, as if they were necessary inconveniences.  
    Jath’ibaye went to one of the large terrariums that filled his deep windowsill. Kahlil followed, though he paused as he took in the display of mosses, stones and tiny flowers that dominated Jath’ibaye’s table.  
    It was a scale model, Kahlil realized. He easily recognized the mountains surrounding Vundomu, though they were carved from black granite. He followed the stream of blue quartz pebbles that represented the Samsira River down through the emerald, moss-covered hills and valleys to Nurjima. Farther south, the rolling hills of the Du’yura lands flattened into the fields of tiny white flowers and the clover meadows of the Lisam lands. At every point where a major city, town or fortress would have stood, clusters of polished stones gleamed.  
      Kahlil frowned at the fine white sand that covered the northern tip of the display. Kahlil recalled Fikiri speaking of stones that Jath’ibaye used as wards.
    “What is this?” Kahlil asked.
    “A model,” Jath’ibaye replied without much interest. “The soil and stones are linked to the real lands. Ji built it to keep track of things outside of Vundomu. I just use it to grow varieties of winter moss.”
    A dim red light flickered through the blue quartz of the Samsira River. Very slowly it moved northward towards Vundomu.
    “You can see the gaun’im’s forces approaching with this, can’t you?”
    “Yes,” Jath’ibaye said. “But that’s not what I wanted to show you right this moment. Will you come over here?” Jath’ibaye beckoned Kahlil to where he stood.
    Reluctantly, Kahlil left the model to join Jath’ibaye beside a terrarium filled with low-growing plants. Splashes of scarlet colored the dark green leaves and red runners spread from one plant to another. A few had produced small white flowers, while others sheltered dark red fruit beneath their leaves.
    “Are these Nayeshi strawberries?” Kahlil asked in amazement.  
    Jath’ibaye nodded. “ Fragaria ananassa.