Over the next week, Jareen saw several more vien and vienu walk into the Mingling alone. They bore no visible sign of the Malady, but most were hiding their hands in their garments, or their feet were hidden in wrapped sandals. There must have been a significant outbreak within the enclave. She could not help but pity the Canaen walking into the Mingling to die. It was unlikely that they would survive long enough for the Malady to kill them. Wild beasts would likely feast upon them far sooner, and yet the exiled afflicted did not hesitate to take the path into the jungle alone.

Oddly enough, she would have found it less remarkable were they Findelvien, but were not the Canaen free? Were the sorcerers of the enclave using compulsion, or did the vien and vienu sacrifice themselves of their own will? If so, she could not help but admire such bravery. The need to remove contagion was nothing new to her; she had seen plenty of houses in Nosh be bricked during outbreaks. Yet those actions were not voluntary. The screams of the trapped and the wails of babes had not left her memory.

It was some comfort that, wherever Faro was, at least Vireel knew how to prevent the Malady. Then again, why did she believe Vireel? If the sorceress knew how to prevent it, why hadn't she told her own kind? Why let the Canaen suffer, if her goal was to destabilize the Synod? It didn't make sense to Jareen.

On the rare nice days since coming to the edge of Forel, and on the more restless rainy ones, Jareen had paid attention to the fungi around her, but there were so many—growing on the bark of the trees, in the soil, on exposed rock. Vireel was right that it would take Jareen a hundred years. It would likely take longer, even if she knew how to test the fungi. Beyond wanting to help the afflicted—an instinct she couldn't shake—she also would find joy in spiting Vireel. If she could somehow determine which fungi were sensitive to the Current, it might help, but she doubted any of the Canaen would be eager to help her, let alone believe her. The different vienu who brought them their food and drink barely said anything to her.

As she meandered around the copse one day looking at fungi, staying near enough to see quthli for fear of the Mingling beasts, Jareen noticed a plant growing on the edge of the clearing. The tiny purple flowers drew her attention. They were similar, though not exactly, like tlna. She plucked a stalk and raised it to her nose. The smell confirmed it. It was some variety of tlna. She had known it grew in the Mingling, for the companies fighting there used it to help with pain. She looked around. What else might be growing nearby? Even if the enclave forced those stricken with the Malady to go into the Mingling, perhaps she could at least give them some tincture to ease their suffering.

She circled the edge of the clearing, collecting a few more stems of tlna. When she started to follow the trail east toward the enclave, looking for other plants, some of the quth followed her. As she stooped next to the path, inspecting a stalk of what might be a species of bittergrass, another quth approached with Coir tottering after it.

"They don't know what you're doing," Coir called to her. "But Vireel tasked them with guarding you."

"I'm collecting herbs for tinctures," she said.

"I figured as much," he said as they reached her. He turned to the quth and spoke something in their disjointed tongue. The language sounded even more ridiculous spoken by him than by the quth, themselves. The creatures looked from him to her, and she felt like she could detect expressions of confusion on their hairy faces, though she couldn't have described how. Perhaps she was growing used to the beasts.

The next day when a vienu brought their food, Jareen made a request.

"I need glass bottles with stoppers," she said. "mixing bowls, a knife, a copper pot and pan, spoons, and a mortar and pestle," she told her.

The vienu scrunched her face.

"I am told to bring you food and drink, not all these things."

"Would Orvu Vireel be pleased to know the simple requests of the Daughter of Vah were denied?" Jareen wasn't sure such a threat would work, but it was the only leverage she could think of.

The vienu hesitated, then took the empty jar and basket and left without reply. Two days later, a different vienu came, this time carrying two baskets, one atop the other. The first contained their food, and the second most of the supplies Jareen had requested. Sadly, there was no copper pot and pan, only small ceramic cooking vessels, but she could try to adapt.

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***

Jareen sat beside the little fire in the clearing, slowly reducing her tincture at a simmer, her pot nestled among embers. Her nose was running and her eyes stinging from the smoke. Some of the quth had gathered near, curious at what she was doing. They watched her movements carefully, sitting in little huddles and grooming each other with bone and wooden combs. Once, she had to swat away the hands of a young quth who reached toward her mortar and pestle. A chorus of hoofs followed from the onlookers.

Coir laughed from his seat near the fire; one of the quth had carried Coir's chair out of the house for him.

"Would you tell them not to touch?" she asked, exasperated.

Coir hooted a few words in their tongue. The quth looked back and forth from him to her and then returned to their grooming.

It was sunny for the first time in days, and the quth plied their combs and scrapers on each other, sitting in circles so that each could groom the one in front of them. Jareen had seen them do this before. They'd pick bugs or burrs out of each other's coats. Their hair was truly luminous, sometimes a dark grey, sometimes silver almost white, like fine strands of raw silk. From a distance it appeared clean enough, but Jareen knew it was filthy, because as they groomed the quth had to clean some sort of grime or residue off the combs. As Jareen leaned over to check her simmer, one of the females did just that, shaking a clump of gunk off of her comb onto the dirt.

Jareen had never sat with them while they groomed, but when she had lit the little fire with a few smoldering sticks from one of the quth fires, they had grown curious and assembled around her. She was near enough to see the gunk where it lay on the ground, and she squinted at it in disgust. Presumably, the teeth of their combs scraped out a mixture of oils, and skin, and hair, and. . . something that looked almost crumbly or moldy. It appeared the constant damp made their thick coats the breeding ground for some kind of growth.

There was a hint of color in it—a streak of violet. She glanced at some of the other combs the quthli were plying. She noticed bits of yellow and green and more violet. If the quth lived on the Findeluvié side of the Mingling, would the residue have taken on more of the blues and viridians of Findel's Current?

"Why is it that the Current of Isecan causes different colors than the Current of Findel?" she asked Coir. "Have you ever inquired?"

The man shrugged.

"I have asked, but I have never received more of an answer than that they are two different Wellsprings, and so they cause different hues."

"Why does the Change cause pigmentation, anyway?"

"I suspect the Current plays upon the tissues in some fashion. Have you noticed that the tones of Vien skin and hair do not appear to follow patterns of strict inheritance?"

"What do you mean?"

"Think of Nosh. How many shades of skin and hair did you see?"

Most Noshians were dark of hair and complexion. Coir's hair was white, now, but it had been red-blond, something of a rarity.

"Not many. Not as many as among Vien."

"True. There are other human kingdoms across the sea where blond hair is more common than dark."

"So it is the same among humans."

"No. Noshians look much the same in complexion. It is passed down from parent to child, and going far enough back, most Noshians are related. But here I have seen great variation within Trees."

Jareen had noticed how similar so many of the Noshians appeared, but she simply attributed that to their. . . humanness.

"My mother and sister both had dark hair," Jareen offered.

"I'm not saying it cannot happen," Coir replied. "But look at you. There is no pigment in you, and you are Insensitive to the Currents."

Jareen nodded. It wasn't a new thought to her. She knew that colorless hair and skin was the mark of an Insensitive. She simply hadn't considered that the opposite might be true.

Another one of the quth used their massive thumb to scrape the build-up off their comb, flicking it away. It landed even nearer to Jareen this time. There was a streak of yellow in amongst the gray. While there was an oily sheen to it, it also appeared granular.

Even the animals of the Mingling were Sensitive. Even the quth. They could not make use of it like the vien, but the quth could be controlled, which meant they were sensitive—receptive, at least. Vireel had lived many years surrounded by nothing but the Mingling and the quth.

Jareen stood and stepped closer to the glob, staring down at it. Coir squinted, watching her. She knelt and picked it up between thumb and forefinger. It was drier than she expected.

"Jareen?" Coir asked.

She loosened the hair from the granular residue by rolling it between her fingers. The gathered quth had grown still, watching. Jareen walked over to the nearest female. She felt a slight tremor of revulsion but ignored it, reaching out and parting the quth's coat. The female tensed and froze in place, hardly breathing. Her hair was as smooth and light as it looked. Quth all around began huffing and speaking in their language.

The quth's hair grew thick, but Jareen managed to expose a narrow part of skin by pulling the hair in opposite directions. There was discoloration there, streaks of darker pigments, and she could see bits of the dry flakey crust at the base of the hair. She rubbed some loose with her finger and looking at it against her own skin.

"Jareen?" Coir asked again.

"I have an idea," she said.

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