Willpower makes desire magic much more flexible. With it you can:

• Do what you hate.

• Avoid what you love.

• Know what you want.

If you’re bad at the last one, don’t bother with the first two.

• Excerpt from “The Path of The Longstrider”

3 Days Later (Lighthome Time) - Copycat - The Griffon’s Nest

“... long story short, we’re looking for a god named Tiger. Can you help us out?” asks Cyan.

We’re in a tavern called the Griffon’s Nest, talking to a drunken dwarf. Or a dead one. It’s hard to tell. He’s impressively immobile.

It’s our third day in the giant tree they call Lighthome. We’ve been shot at three times, fallen about three kilometers, and hit three taverns in sacked aeries.

Lighthome is a beautiful realm filled with murderous shitheads. If it wasn’t for Cy’s featherfall spell we’d be in a different realm with no memories of ever being here. Tempting.

“Well, that’s mighty kind of you.” says Cy. “Thank you very much.”

I’m not sure what Cy gleaned from the dwarf - he didn’t speak, move, or breath. Perhaps dwarven is a subtle language? He smells like dirt. Is that a form of communication? Has Cy lost it? I’d ask Presto, but he’s definitely lost it.

“No, it’s been my pleasure to meet you.” says Cy.

“Okay, what the fuck?” I ask. “How are you understanding him?”

“Her.” corrects Cy.

I look at the dwarf. “That’s a her?”

“What? Fuck, I hope not. I’m not talking to the dwarf. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.” Cy gives the dwarf a shove. He tips off his highchair and slams the floor. “I’m talking to the bee.”

Cy points at a bee on the corner of our table. She waves back.

“Right. That’s why we bought a thimblefull of mead.” It all makes sense now. “Wait, is this how you looked for Tiger on Lowgarden?”

“Yep. How else would you do it?”

I rub my head. While Presto and Cy have gone local, I find myself very concerned with time. Lighthome is a good step closer to The Bridge. We’ve only been here for three days, but a couple months have passed on Lowgarden. In the greater scheme of things, that’s not a lot of time, but I feel we should have more to show for it than light amnesia, arrow wounds, and bug rumors.

“Maybe we should ask people?”

“Alright.” Cy boots the dwarf. “Where’s Tiger!”

“Tigerger?” mumbles the dwarf. “I once dated a girl called Ligerger.”

Cy looks impressed. “That’s a strong maybe. Let’s harass more drunks.”

We weave through the tavern asking about Tiger. No one has heard of him. Or so they say. Bugs and drunks. What an operation we’re running.

A nervous harpy grabs my sleeve. “Are you friends with the gnome?”

I nod.

“The Frost is outside.” whispers the harpy. “They’re talking to your gnome.”

“Is that good?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “It is not.”

“Fuck.” I nudge Cy. “The Frost is talking to Presto.”

“Shit.” Cy strides towards the door. I follow.

“Who’s The Frost?” I ask.

“Seekers of Truth. Defenders of the Great Tree. Don’t tell them about the fire.”

Outside, an elf and a goblin have Presto backed to the edge of the branch. They’re armed with thick staves and heavy iron wands. The wands aren't drawn, but the confrontation looks tense.

Cy growls, stomps over to loom above The Frost. I take his left. They shift to face us, and Presto slips aside. The harpy lands next to him. She’s looking more confident. Now The Frost have their backs to the edge.

“What’s this?” barks Cyan.

“Asking the gnome a few questions.” sneers the elf. “You his lawyer?”

“Does he need one?” asks Cyan.

“There was a big fire up top three days ago.” says the elf. “Looks like it was started by gnomic flame.”

“That sounds like a no.”

The elf grunts. “We’ll see.”

He gives a suspicious, evil look as he leaves. Which may have been menacing, if he didn’t have to awkwardly shuffle sideways to get past us, because Cy doesn’t give him an inch.

“Hey!” I yell at their backs. “You guys are seekers of truth, right? Any good at finding lost people?”

The elf grumbles at the goblin and keeps walking. She flips out a notebook and turns back to us.

“We can do a missing persons report.” She has a raspy singsong voice. “What’s their name?”

“Tiger. He’s a god.”

“How long has he been missing?”

“I dunno.”

“Where was he last seen?”

“I don’t know.”

“What does he look like?”

“I can’t remember.”

“How do you know him?”

“Not sure.”

“Why do you think he’s missing?”

“Because I can’t find him.”

“Huh. Wonder why.” she sighs. “Okay, if we find him, how do we contact you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Like, where will you be?”

“Wow, I have no idea.”

“Cool. I like a challenge. Let’s see what comes of this.” She flips her notebook closed. Walks away shaking her head.

I slump. We’re never finding Tiger.

Presto fishes three beer out of his bag. Passes one to the harpy, cracks another. Tosses the bag to Cy. “Load us up. Time to move on.” Cy nods and heads into the tavern.

Presto slaps the last brew into my hand.

“Cy’s asked the bees to look for Tiger?” he asks.

I nod.

“Cool. They’ll need a week or so for a good search. Do you want to chill out while they look, or do you want to look harder?”

I pop open my beer. “I would like to look harder.”

“Alrighty.” says Presto. “Finding lost people you barely remember is something of an everyday problem during the apocalypse. There’s a few basic strategies:

“We could try a custom transport spell. And probably get our minds erased, because we can’t really remember who we’re looking for.

“We can announce our presence far and wide, and hope Tiger comes to us. This is the one where bounty hunters drag us to Wreckworld.

“We can just ask around, see if we get lucky. Somebody’s got to know him, right? That’s what we’re doing in the taverns. It’s a better plan in the lower realms, where time isn’t so precious.

“We can consult an organization with a reliable institutional memory. That’s the bee thing. Cockroaches too, if we can find them. Spiders are pretty sharp, but can be fucking liars.

“Or, we can ask a boon of a being with a long, perfect, memory. Dragons, giants, the smarter gods. Not my usual crowd.” Presto shrugs. “Could work.

“So yeah, those are the first steps on our most obvious paths forward. Anything look good to you?”

I drink thoughtfully. “Are there any non-insect organizations with reliable institutional memories?”

“Sure.” says Presto. “I’m not on speaking terms with them, but they exist.”

Hmm. I wonder if I’m on speaking terms with them? I do have a large bounty that I don’t recall earning. It’s possible that I’m not popular.

“Could we search another realm while the bees are doing their thing? A week here is a couple years in Darkhome. Can’t we teleport there, and come back when the bees are ready?”

“Maybe?” Presto shrugs. “Do you know how to get to Darkhome? Do you remember how we got here?”

I rub my head. Should we just drink with drunks? I’m not sure we’re qualified for anything else.

“I know where there’s a dragon.” the harpy offers. “He’s in the other tree.”

“What?” gasps Presto. “There’s another tree?”

Presto looks at me. He’s excited. Loves to find hidden places.

I shrug. “I guess we got a plan.”