The food was on the very top tier…which was at the absolute summit of the peak. Of course. And though I worried about banana-guy’s threat all the way up, I was too busy trying not to throw up to seek clarification.

By the time we reached the top, a light rain had begun, but we weren’t exposed for long. A massive roof sheltered ninety percent of the tier’s surface, decked all over with the stone effigies of dragons—or whatever they called them here—and supported by sigil-covered pillars bigger around than four of me holding hands to make a circle. It looked like a temple.

Other kobolds mostly edged out of our path as we made our way to the heart of the tier. The transcendent scents of roasted meat and crisped pastry enveloped us, and then the fires came into view. A cookpit spanned almost the entire central length of the tier, emitting heat, noise and delicious aroma in equal abundance. There was a lot of smoke, too, but it streamed upward and out through narrow vents in the roof. More sigil magic, I guessed.

Metal grates overflowed with pots and pans, stands hung with bubbling cauldrons, and some sections had clay ovens built over them. At one station, two kobolds unearthed something charred, boar-sized and wrapped in leaves from beneath a heap of embers. Hot water spigots—shaped like dragon heads—protruded from a nearby stone ledge, and at its top were lined clay mugs and pitchers, jars and bottles.

I told myself the abundance of fire and the lightness of the smoke it produced meant we couldn’t really be all that high up, elevation-wise, but it wasn’t much comfort. It was high enough up that I’d go splat if I fell over an edge, and I couldn’t seem to forget that fact for more than a half a second at most.

But then we got to the head of the food line, and the novelty of kobold cooking finally distracted me a bit from the idea of toppling to my second untimely death. The first station we came to along the cookpit was one of the ovens. The winged kobold manning it reached straight in and pulled out two of the black sparkling bowls and handing them over.

Hesitating, I accepted mine and was surprised to find it pleasantly warm rather than skin-scalding. The material gave way somewhat under my fingertips, not at all the unyielding stone I had expected. I filled it with a selection of fish and squid skewered on sticks, something like scallops still in the shell, a weird, scaly blue fruit dug up from a pile of coals, and an item which I had been assured was a hand pie…though it was as black and sparkling as my bowl.

Again I followed Thors’ lead as we reached the end of the banquet fire and proceeded to the drink selection. After all, he’d put up with me, defended me, even answered a few of my questions without making me pay him for it…and others obviously respected him. Sticking close to him seemed like my best option, at least for the time.

When we'd finished and finally broke past the congestion of other clamoring kobolds, bowls and cups in hand, I found myself faced for the first time with the view at the other side of the mountain.

To say I almost dropped my bowl would be an exaggeration, but my grip definitely loosened.

The peak we occupied was but one of many, albeit the largest, which ringed together to form a sprawling caldera. And at the center of it, far below us, were two crater lakes. One was fed by a river and shone with swirling, luminous color, turquoise and gold and green, orange and fuchsia and blue. The other was still, cut off, and all the colors of an oil slick.

I could feel the swoosh of air from Thors’ wagging tail as he stood beside me, watching my reaction.

“What do you think?” he pressed.

“It’s…crazy. It’s beautiful.” And terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. We are way too high up.

In the far distance, lightning struck, and thunder purred across the sky.

“Yes,” he said, with that air of pride that surfaced every time the Academy or anything related to it came up. “Of course. They’re called The Siblings, those lakes. Dream and Nightmare.”

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

Unfortunately, I couldn’t enjoy the splendor of The Siblings for long without getting sick to my stomach at the thought of how far down they were. Reluctant but already queasy, I turned away. I had questions to ask and strange food to eat.

There weren’t any chairs or tables, exactly. There were, however, upthrusts of heated stone with scooped tops clustered at regular intervals around the outer perimeter of the tier. Thors claimed one of them, and I the one beside him. But as desperate as I was to eat, I couldn’t bring myself to take a single bite until I’d found out what that threat was all about.

I could take a sip of my drink, though, and I did that first to ready myself. Thors had called the beverage “honeyjack,” and assured me it wasn’t alcoholic, which was a good thing. I wasn’t super keen on the idea of getting all drunk and off-balance up here, even if the sigils would probably protect me.

But the stuff was sweet and had a kick of spiciness, which was bolstering in its own way.

“That jerk back there,” I started, looking down into my cup and swilling my drink around. “He said something weird to me. He said I’d better hope I don’t get placed with him. Well actually, he said us. What…what did he mean by that?”

Thors lowered the fish-on-a-stick that was halfway to his mouth, his tail going suddenly still. “You don’t even know that much?”

I scrunched my snout at him.

“Excuse me, but what part of I lost my whole-ass memory aren’t you getting?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, grimacing.

“What did he mean by that?” I pressed. “What did he mean, placed?”

Now it was Thors avoiding my gaze as I stared him down, my tail tapping against the side of my stone pedestal.

“I take it you don’t know what a coven is?”

I frowned. The word actually, phonetically sounded just like the english term for a group of witches. But the translation was…complex. A combination of party, peer-group, pack, and a bunch of other, more nebulous and concerning things.

“Uuuuuh…”

As I stalled out, lost for words, Thors blinked at me, slowly raising his stick back to his mouth. His expression was thoughtful as he chomped into the fish’s belly and began to chew.

“Where to start…” he wondered around a mouthful of food. Then his ears perked, and he swallowed.

“What do you know about the initiation process?”

“Not even the faintest hint of a single thing,” I replied, wishing he’d hurry up and get to the explanation.

He sighed, dropping the half-eaten fish back into his sparkle-bowl. “I think it will be easiest if I just go over the whole thing with you.”

Really? For free? Why?

“And that will help me understand what ‘coven’ means?”

“Yes,” he said. “Because much of initiation has to do with determining your coven placement. For eight days, you will remain here.”

“Here, in…er…Central Peak?” I smirked and cringed at the same time, imagining the cast of Friends but as kobolds.

“Oh no,” he said, gesturing with his spear, which I had yet to see him set down. His bowl teetered in his lap. “Out here, on the tiers of the summit.”

Another flash of lightning, another roll of thunder, and the rain intensified.

I didn’t have words to express how appalled I was at that idea, so I said nothing. Just stared.

“During this time, elders will observe and assess, and pick out the ashai from the kohai.”

“Ashai” translated very roughly to a combination of the concepts of both leader and mentor, and kohai roughly as, well…the opposite of that. Something more along the lines of “those in need of guidance.”

“Ashai are matched into groups of four to start new covens. Kohai are grouped by four as well and matched to existing third-year ashai covens, thus completing them. But because of your transgression, you can only be kohai.”

“And covens are…”

“Groups of kobolds arranged not only according to compatibility and balance, but the needs of their clans and territory.”

“That’s incredibly vague. What kind of group? Raiding party? Sports team? Garage band?”

The word “garage” simply didn’t translate to anything, and I ended up saying the actual English word. Hearing it with kobold ears and a kobold brain, I knew it must have sounded to Thors like I was gargling nonsense at him. He tilted his head, concern in his eyes.

“I…what?”

“Nevermind. You were explaining? Thoroughly?”

“Right. Covens. Well, they’re your family group, of course. Companions, partners, mates…”

“I have to have seven mates?”

Thors guffawed.

“Not unless you’re trying very hard to prove something. But when you do mate to reproduce, if you do, you stay within your coven. You look out for your coven and they look out for you, and you share in the protection and raising of clutches. And when you complete schooling, you will join the ashai members of your coven in whichever clan they have been accepted into.”

My appetite vanished. I might not have been the brightest opal, but I wasn’t the dullest, either. I knew immediately what all of that boiled down to.

It meant that I really could be stuck with Banana Jerk, or kobolds very much like him, for the rest of my life…however long that was going to be.