“Faith is the truth of passion. Since no passion is more true than another, faith is the truth of nothing.”
The antidote was finally prepared at the Arcane Enclave, and those of us who had been affected by the spores were spared whatever further corruption they might have brought. I am grateful to the alchemist who prepared it, though the experience has left me more cautious than before. It is an uncomfortable thing to know that something so small as a cloud of spores can overcome the mind of a creature that believes itself strong. I have spent much of my existence surrounded by beings of immense power, and yet the gods themselves were brought low by weaknesses they could not recognize until it was too late. Perhaps power has always been less important than knowing where one is vulnerable.
We were given some time to ourselves while we waited for our next lead. Amityria used the opportunity to visit the smith and have her pistols reforged, an undertaking she approached with considerably more seriousness than I expected. Skara, meanwhile, sought out Lady Zephyra. Alvaro and I eventually did the same. I remain uncertain what to make of the fortune-teller. Her words are always difficult to grasp, as though she speaks from a place where the present and the future have become tangled together. She offered us little that could be understood directly, yet I could not shake the impression that she saw troubles ahead for both Alvaro and me. I have never been particularly interested in prophecy. Knowing that something may happen does not necessarily grant one the power to prevent it. Still, there are some warnings that remain in the mind long after the person who delivered them has gone.
Our attention soon returned to Mara Veyr, the warehouse manager whose name had emerged in connection with the Ebon Syndicate. We found her and questioned her about the organization's activities, presenting the vial containing the cursed vine as evidence of what we had uncovered. I had expected fear or denial. Instead, the plant answered for her.
The vine burst from its container and rapidly transformed into a living creature, its tendrils twisting and striking with a violence that seemed almost purposeful. We destroyed it before it could harm anyone, but the incident confirmed what we had already begun to suspect: these cursed plants are not merely dangerous substances being traded by criminals. They possess a vitality of their own, and whatever force has corrupted them seems capable of turning them into living instruments.
Mara eventually agreed to cooperate with us. She will provide information concerning the Ebon Syndicate's movements whenever she learns something of value. It is not an alliance built upon trust, but I have come to accept that trust is a luxury rarely available to those who investigate conspiracies. Sometimes it is enough that two people have interests that temporarily point in the same direction.
While we waited for further information, we turned our attention to another problem outside the city in the Verdant Ring. Caravans had been attacked by some enormous creature, apparently driven by nothing more complicated than hunger. There was something almost reassuring about that. A hungry beast is easier to understand than a man who commits atrocities for reasons he believes noble.
We prepared a trap and used food as bait, hoping that whatever had been preying upon the caravans would be unable to resist it. Our plan succeeded, and the creature eventually emerged from the forest.
It was a giant, but not one I had ever seen before. The curse upon it was immediately apparent. A grotesque marsupial growth had formed from its belly, a swollen and unnatural organ that gave the creature its name among the locals: the Pot Belly. The sight was difficult to reconcile with the simple explanation of hunger. Whatever this thing had once been, the curse had reshaped it into something grotesque and dependent upon the very appetite that now drove it toward the roads.
I find myself increasingly troubled by the pattern.
The fungus aboard La Esperanza. The cursed plants being cultivated and transported by the Syndicate. The vine that became a living creature in our hands. Now a giant twisted by some corruption that has transformed its body and driven it to feed upon travelers. These things may appear unrelated when viewed individually, but I have lived long enough to know that patterns often become visible only after one has collected enough pieces.
When the gods were dying, the first signs of their madness were similarly scattered. A strange decision here, an inexplicable act there, each one dismissed until the pattern became impossible to ignore. I wonder whether I am witnessing the beginning of something similar once again.
The difference is that this time there are no gods left to fall.
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