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She experiences self pleasure on a canoe trip.

Upon closer look, however, I started to notice the soldiers. From a distance it had been easy to interpret the casual milling about as the easy life of soldiers far from the front line. But now I was mocking my ignorance, because once I knew to look for them, the scars of war were obvious.

A Droll with a missing leg asked a friend to get a drink for her. A pair of wild-eyed Ifrits had patches of cracked, pale blue skin that looked like burns looked on humans. Another was missing his tail. Other signs were not so obvious-like the fact that the people who were standing were all leaning on something. The edge of a table, the back of a chair. Most Droll seemed to have no problem with an Ifrit or a human leaning on them. Whether it was a back injury or a bad knee or an amputated foot, standing seemed to be a luxury in this crowd.

A pair of people cleared from the bar as we walked up, and I frowned.

"I thought we weren't supposed to use the Art," I said.

"I'm not," replied Rinzai tersely.

The bartender was a stocky man wiping down a used glass with a dirty rag. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing thick muscular forearms that shone with a thin layer of sweat. He was in the middle of a conversation with a tall woman whose once white coat was completely covered in dirt.

"...are inconclusive, but promising. I think it's alive, Harper."

"That so?" replied the bartender.

She nodded smugly. "It's early still, but I'm sure of it. You don't look surprised. Do your stories have an explanation for this too?"

"I asked his Holiness to look into it for a reason." said the bartender, "If I understood the Wastes, I wouldn't have."

"Oh, drop the Holiness talk around me," said the scientist. "The man was a colossal ass. Only the stupidest soldiers would have believed that speech he made, if not for the damn sunrise. The world is better off without him, but at least there's a shred of good come from all his breaths."

"Yes?" Harper prompted, setting down the dried glass and picking up another.

She answered his question with a question. "Did you ever wonder why the Wastes only started expanding recently?"

"Of course."

"And you had your reasons for suspecting the Wastes were alive, however folkish. Let me ask you: what normally regulates the proliferation of life?"

Harper eyed the scientist critically. "Predators."

She grinned. "Exactly."

He looked thoughtful. "Something eats the Wasteland?"

She leaned back on her stool, eyes glittering.

Harper looked like he had more to say, but then he saw us. He looked gobsmacked, which was just about the first big emotion his face had portrayed. He excused himself, and walked over.

"You're back," he said, looking at Rinzai uncertainly.

"You're still here," replied Rinzai.

"That I am. Did you...find what you were looking for?"

"Yes and no." Rinzai sighed. "They rarely give you straight answers in that place. Sufficed to say my journey is not yet at an end."

"Mine either," said the barkeep. "It's a miracle I'm still here." He nodded curtly to me. "Name's Harper."

"Tristan."

"Pleased to meet you."

He fetched two bowls of stew from the kitchen. They were still steaming when he placed them on the bar. He shook his head when Rinzai went for his money pouch. Rinzai politely thanked him, and we dug in.

"Are the rumors true, Harper?" Rinzai asked around a mouthful of stew. "All that bloodshed for nothing?"

Harper scratched his chin. "Hard to know when to trust a rumor. Word comes down the line that the High Jassan died in combat, and I don't think much of it. More stories follow, and in them he died protecting his men. Then I know they're lies, 'cause that's not the man he was."

He shrugged. "But when the stories don't stop coming, when they start getting twisted, when I hear a different version for every mouth that tells the tale? That's when I start to suspect there might be a kernel of truth in them."

"So he's really dead?"

"Could be," said Harper. "You know, I met the man just a few moons ago."

"What was he like?" I asked.

Harper

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