Mad Sisters of Esi by Tashan Mehta

Author:Tashan Mehta [Mehta, Tashan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Publisher: Astra Publishing House
Published: 2025-08-05T00:00:00+00:00

V

Two days later, Magali sets off into the forest.

She carries a small pouch filled with silta pearls, her entire haul from the past six years. She tells Grandpa she is spending the day with Jinn. She tells Jinn she is going on a hunt for a rare root Grandpa showed her. She tells Wisa nothing. You don’t have to explain yourself to Wisa.

Magali makes sure she keeps to the quieter paths of the forest; she doesn’t want to encounter anyone. It is also why she didn’t go to the port for this. She would probably find a sailor who could answer her questions, but there would be too many luddites who would recognize her.

Her destination now is at the other end of the forest. It is a small patch on the fringes that was burned in a lightning storm. It is filled with split carcasses of dead trees, ash thick on the ground. This is a drifter meeting spot. She has seen them, their coats hanging off the dead trunks, exchanging stories about the island.

When she reaches the spot, she finds it has regrown since she saw it last. The tree carcasses are still there, but taro vines have grown over them, and flowers bloom between leaves. The ground has sprouted a soft fuzz of weed and grass. Instead of charred wood, it smells of forest now—leafy, and heady with the scent of petrichor.

There is only one drifter here. Her coat is off, and she is whittling a branch into a shape Magali cannot identify. Her hands are spotted and wrinkled, ink drawings etched into her skin. She is old, but not frail. No drifter is frail.

Magali hesitates. The drifter hasn’t seen her yet; she is still hidden by the trees. Drifters are unreliable. You cannot trust them. Very few have their respect, like Grandpa does. What if this drifter lies to her? Takes her silta pearls and then takes her for a fool?

Come out, come out, the drifter sings.

Magali steps back, deeper into the shadows, then stops. This is ridiculous. She is Magali Kilta. She squares her shoulders and walks into the clearing.

The trade is quickly done. A pouch of silta pearls for two questions. Magali asked for three, but the drifter laughs. Silta pearls aren’t as valuable as you think, the drifter says. You can make ones with craft now. So Magali settles on two questions. She places the pouch on the ground and backs away, so that the pearls are equidistant from both of them. To show trust, she tells the drifter.

The drifter is amused. You’re a luddite, she says, and then nods at her own statement. Only a luddite would be so old-fashioned. What is your question?

Magali takes a deep breath. How did the festival of madness start?

If the drifter is surprised, she doesn’t show it. Wasted question, she says, continuing to wilt her branch. No one knows.

There must be theories. Stories. Something.

The drifter looks up. Is that your second question?

No, Magali says quickly. No. I .

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