Lan-tenth
“Lan-tenth, having stolen the secrets of magic from the grocklin skygazers, fled the kingdom in the trees. He carried a nutcracker’s knife and a sliver of the first ember. Though it was his kind's greatest sin to do so, he set foot upon the ground, gritting his teeth and tucking his tail between his legs for fear Earthshaker would tear open the ground and pull him down into the dark depths.”
Some of the children clutched each other while a few buzzed and released pheromones. To Drusk’s trained nose, they smelled like the sharp, biting odors of paint thinner. His muscles tightened, anticipating an attack in response to the potent pheromone. Another Balancer might have felt foolish, but Drusk found himself impressed by the princess’ skill. He had arrived partway through the story, but after only a few words, it cast a spell upon him, snatching his attention as easily as Onyx might swoop down upon an unsuspecting rodent.
“The determined grocklin traveled for days, making slow progress as he stuck to the shadows and scurried through underbrush to avoid the predators who lurked on the cursed ground. He found the ancient wodenlang who were inseparable from their trees during that time. With careful precise cuts, he shore away bits of wood from several of the wodenlang, freeing them from the trees and allowing them to take their first steps upon Severia. He gifted them the nutcracker’s knife and continued further away from his home.
“Next, Lan-tenth came to a hole in the ground where he heard the burrowers and hobs stumbling around in the dark. With his sliver of the first ember, he cast them into the light. The ember’s fire grew, and the subterranean races were drawn to it. The hobs drew too close, stumbled into the flame, and began to melt, their tough skin no match for the ember. When the burrowers grew accustomed to the heat, they ventured forward and tended to the hobs, reforming them to the best of their ability. The ember still lives within the hobs, and coupled with their transition from one state to another, they now possess the ability to easily manipulate stone, wood, and even water.
“As Lan-tenth returned to the surface, some of the hobs followed. They could not all keep pace with the swift grocklin and many lost their way in the swamps and forests where they met the wodenlang. Thus, the hobs were divided between rock, forest, and swamp.”
Drusk realized with a start he was so engrossed in the tale, he had neglected to watch Imena. Upon her form, he saw reflected his own experience with the story. She sat rigid and tense, angled forward as if being drawn into the story with invisible hooks. His heart suddenly seemed too big for his chest, pumping too quickly and suffusing him with warmth from the tips of his ears to the bottoms of his feet.
“With only the secret of magic left, Lan-tenth reached the most perilous part of his journey. The trees grew sparse and larger predators stalked the spaces between though many fled at sight of the hobs.
“Lan-tenth found the humans scattered in valleys and caves. The hobs built their first bridges and protected them from predators, uniting the humans. Lan-tenth gave the secret of magic to the mothers, who nurtured and cared for it as they did their young. Thus the first bandruí were born, and their sons became andruí. With their gift for touching Severia’s magic realm, the druí guided the other humans and connected them to all other races.
“The Maker, Keeper of Stories, Queen of Queens was so touched by Lan-tenth’s courage, she immortalized him in the telling of her story for all time. Some believe that when a light burns across the sky that is Lan-tenth spreading his knowledge to other worlds. Others think he still skitters about, giving gifts to young races like ours so that we may better ourselves.”
Beside him, tears leaked from Imena’s eyes, and the softest of smiles touched her lips. It was a common reaction to a kilkinteth tale. Rather than wipe her tears, she displayed the moisture on her face as if it were a compliment. Onyx appeared to be asleep, her head tucked beneath one wing. Several of the children had also fallen asleep, leaning against each other. Those who were still awake stared with their unblinking eyes, wings fluttering, and filled the room with joyous pheromones.
The princess rose and took to the air, flying over the children to alight before Drusk. From the corner of his eye, he saw Anders had fully entered the room. With some degree of difficulty and many moans, Drusk managed to get his feet back under him in order to kneel before the princess, waking Onyx in the process. He bowed and pulled his cloak out to the sides.
“Your majesty,” he said, echoed by Imena. Even Onyx offered a slight bow, knowing Drusk would reward her later for the trick.
“It’s my honor,” the princess said, bowing her head slightly. “I am Princess Concorida. Did you enjoy the story? I hope you weren’t too uncomfortable. We usually tell our stories in a much larger chamber, but I had a special audience tonight.”
He grunted in what he hoped was a complimentary fashion, at least, as far as a grunt could be complimentary. The princess didn’t show any offense, but as usual, her lack of human facial cues made it hard to judge what she was feeling.
“Before you leave, I would have a story from you,” she said.
“Everyone knows my stories,” he said. “Any bard remembers more of my deeds than I do.”
“But the wind whispers of new tales from beyond the King’s Mountains. Of heroic battle beneath the Halcite caverns against an unknown foe.”
“The wind? No, you’ve spoken to the Grinteal kilkinteth.” He shot an accusation at Imena who was pointedly looking away. It had been her idea to visit that particular hive. Against his better judgment, she’d also convinced him to share fragments of his recent activities in the Halcite caverns. “If you want a tale or two, speak to my partner.”
“You know she can’t see me,” Imena said.
He ignored the reminder, content in his denial.
Concordia nodded. For the first time, she looked at Onyx who regarded the princess with a quizzical expression. The nightwing had become quite adept at reading facial cues, and it was now suffering from the same frustration which plagued Drusk. It sent a visual image of the princess with a human’s smiling mouth and another where she wore a frown, lacing the messages with notes of confusion.
Drusk sent the nightwing vague notes of the princess’ interest in the bird, then implored her to approach the children. He pictured her surrendering to a thorough examination by the curious kilkinteth children, and Onyx sent a reluctant note of acquiescence before hopping away.
“Perhaps you could spend a few minutes with the children, then, in the morning before you depart,” Concordia said. “They would be most excited to meet you.”
“No,” Drusk answered without pause, then belatedly added, “your majesty.”
He didn’t care about the kilkinteth children, but they conjured memories of another child from long ago.
Einar’s son wept over his mother’s body until Drusk pulled him roughly away, throwing curses at his own weakness. The other Balancers lay dead. The boy had wide eyes and black hair with streaks of silver. Drusk refused to look upon those he had killed. It was the first time he felt shame over what he had done and anger at being forced to do it.
He couldn’t even remember the boy’s name. He had only heard it spoken once when Einar had called out, her last words full of fear for the child.
“Are they so strange?” Concordia asked, jerking him back to the present.
“They’re wonderful,” Imena said, but the princess continued, unable to hear the praise.
“We are so different from the other races, hardly what you would consider humanoid. We have modified our mouths to speak your languages, and we would raise our young as you do. They deserve a chance to live as other races do.”
“What of other hives?” Drusk asked. The scar on his chest ached with more phantom pains, and he rubbed it unconsciously. When she saw the movement, Imena frowned.
“My mother and the other queens agreed it was a necessary step in our development,” Concordia said. Something in her tone, the slight flutter of only one wing, suggested she was holding something back from him. And he was certain of what it was.
“Gailinn,” he said, spitting the word out like a curse. A few of the sleeping children shifted, though he had had the presence of mind to keep his voice low.
He had sensed her peering into his dreams and had known he wouldn’t be the only one visited in that manner. Too much was coming together at once. Gailinn and Krachnis were moving against each other once again. He would need to act quickly to place himself at the center of things where his skills could shift the coming conflict.
Drusk didn’t need facial expressions to register the kilkinteth’s shock. Whether it was a response to his deduction or his anger, he couldn’t say. From the corner of his eye, he saw the disapproving look on Imena’s face.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
“Forgive me, Balancer,” Concordia said. There was genuine compassion in her tone. “We know of your troubled past with her.”
“Because someone told you a story?” he asked, still keeping his voice low. It was the barest draught of respect he could muster. “Unless the story you heard came from my mouth, you don’t know the truth, and I’ve spoken of my troubles with her to no one.”
“Drusk,” Imena hissed.
Concordia said, “Gailinn told the queens--”
“And she never lies?” Drusk spat.
“Drusk,” Imena repeated, the name a threat. He ignored her, though it pained him to do so.
“Right now, that woman is manipulating creatures throughout the Radiance, preparing them for war without them realizing it. It’s what she always does. Did she tell you Krachnis has a new champion? That your acceptance into the council is a strategy designed and implemented by her to continue a war that has raged since time began?”
Imena passed in front of him, nodding her head to the princess, and left the small chamber.
“I trust my queen,” Concordia said with a slight buzz.
“And if she sends your hive to war? You’re joining the Radiance, and I can promise you war is coming. It isn’t the valiant struggle from your stories. It’s not all gleaming armor and pure motives. Sometimes good conquers evil, but that’s small consolation when you see all those around you cut down, hacked to bits, and you return to a home that’s no longer there, pillaged and your women taken, just more victims of war. Tell that story, Princess.”
“You’re one to condemn sacrifice,” Concordia countered, rising into the air and staring directly into his eyes. “What happened ten years ago outside Westerbrook?”
“No,” Drusk growled. He spoke in a low, measured voice, every syllable charged with promise like the gales and rumbles before a thunderstorm. “You never tell that story. Don’t even think about it. And spread the word to the other hives. If I hear even a rumor of it, I’ll tear down the hive responsible.”
Balancer and kilkinteth stared silently at each other, neither betraying the slightest emotion. Drusk could hear Anders in the chamber’s doorway, worrying his hands on the haft of his spear. Near the chamber’s center, Onyx craned her head around while the children gently ran their claws across the feathers of her outstretched wings. With a sigh, Drusk lowered his gaze and blew out a slow breath, releasing some of his cold fury into the torrent of air.
“I had heard humans were passionate,” the princess said, lowering back to the ground. Rather than being upset with his anger, she exuded the slightest scent of sugar. She was happy. Those children still awake buzzed, and the princess reigned in her emotions. Though not as powerful as a kilkinteth queen’s pheromones, the princess’ scents were easily three times more potent than those of her subjects.
Drusk had to consciously fight the effects, but part of him welcomed the easing of his anger. He hadn’t meant to take out his frustration on the princess. It was all Gailinn’s fault. If she came snooping around his dreams again, he would be ready for her.
“Your stories are cute,” Drusk said, kneeling down closer to the princess, “and you’re obviously skilled at telling them, but how many of them are true? Most are nothing more than fancy lies. Take the great grocklin hero Lan-tenth. I can believe the grocklins used to be more than they are now, but I doubt a single grocklin was responsible for the rise of four great races.”
“Do you think us fools?” Concordia buzzed. “There are many sides to every tale, and we seek out all of them. And what matter whether Lan-tenth’s story is true or not? It’s a children’s tale about how even the smallest of us can enact great change.”
“Remind you of anyone?” he asked.
The princess was speechless. Her mandibles clicked open and closed, but she didn’t utter a sound.
“Listen, Concordia ,” Drusk said. “You’re joining the council, but you’ll not only be the newest race. You’ll be the smallest. Don’t ever imagine your kind to be less than any other. You may be the smallest, but that makes you the most easily overlooked. There’s power in that.”
“Could you stay with us a few days? I could learn much from you. And the hive is buzzing over your arrival.”
“Buzzing?” he asked with the slightest of smiles. “Don’t start making bad puns and playing with words like werecats.”
“I don’t understand what you mean. I thought I had a handle on the common tongue. Did I use the wrong tense or preposition?”
Drusk merely shook his head.
“No matter,” Concordia said. “You must be tired. Anders will take you to the guest quarters. Good night, Balancer.” With a bow, she flew out of the chamber only to be replaced by a small swarm of kilinteth, all females by the look of them but without the princess’ distinct markings. Each gathered a child into her arms while Drusk departed, shaking his head in wonder.
Anders led him back down the central hallway, Onyx once again perched on his arm. Drusk was glad for the chance to stretch his legs and stand at his full height again.
“Do you think it’s true? Lan-tenth’s story?” Anders asked.
“Those furry pests having a great nation and guiding the other races? It sounds
like exactly the sort of manipulation Gailinn enjoys.”
“You speak so casually of the Queen of Queens,” Anders said. “Is that a common human practice?”
“The problem is that she’s so much more than what she presents to the world. And yet, she is also less than she could be.” They were the kindest words he had spoken of Gailinn in a long time, ambiguous as they were. Luckily, Anders didn’t press him. The guard had obviously heard Drusk’s entire discussion with the princess. Drusk’s estimation of the little bug rose considerably. He hoped Anders still had many good years ahead of him. It might be nice to meet him again in the future during better times.
When they arrived at the guest quarters, Anders left him alone with a bow and formal farewell. Drusk nodded his head in turn.
The guest room had been designed for humanoid visitors. It was a rectangular room, and the straight angles seemed so out of place in the hive where they preferred hexagons and domes. Though it was only large enough for a single bed against the far wall, Drusk was pleased to find the ceiling rose well above his head. There was a chamber pot, peeking out from beneath the bed. He wondered where the kilkinteth relieved themselves, then realized he had never questioned what they made their hives out of and put the question aside. There was even a small pitcher of water inside an empty bowl. Before Drusk set about washing himself, he motioned to the bed where Imena sat, silently watching him.
“If you want the bed,” Drusk said, “I’ll be fine on the floor.”
“Great idea,” she objected. “Let’s compound your stupidity. Ignore the fact that you fought a werewolf tonight and that in my state, I don’t need a bed, nor do I need to sleep. Speaking of which, your delusions are getting worse based on the way you reacted to my elbowing you. Or did you actually imagine you could feel me?”
“Always,” he said, splashing water on his face. Before Imena could henpick him for his treatment of the kilkinteth, and she would now that they were finally alone, Drusk brought up a more pressing topic. “Krachnis spoke to me.”
It took her a moment to fully process the news, so he focused on washing.
“That explains your mood...partially,” Imena said, lying down. The bed had a small pillow and a thin blanket, but she covered herself with her cloak.
“He promised to give you back to me,” Drusk said.
“Which you should know is impossible,” Imena reminded him.
“Do I?” Drusk asked. He turned from washing and stood above her. Her face was guarded. If she showed even one hint of wanting to come back, Drusk didn’t think he could deny her. “Even that foul creature is capable of fear, and I see no other reason for him to speak to me directly. Always before he threatened, but he has never tried to strike a deal. It worries me.”
“Because you think it’s possible? You would fight against Gailinn and the Radiance to have me back?”
“That’s a complicated question,” Drusk said and returned to the bowl. As he finished scrubbing, he was startled at how dirty the water collecting in the bowl was. He had scrubbed his face and hands on a corner of his cloak, borrowing Onyx’s eyes after he had nearly reached the hive. At the time, he had focused on removing all traces of the werewolf’s blood, but he thought he had cleared away at least a few days’ worth of sleeping on the ground.
He found a clean patch on his cloak and dried his face then ran a hand across the lengthening stubble on his cheeks. With the weather growing colder, it was time to grow a beard. It would itch like hell, and each year there was more gray, but it would keep some of the stinging cold from his aging face and would hide the wrinkles around his mouth.
“Speak plainly, Drusk. I’m not some foolish girl who wants to hear that you would damn the entire world because of your love.”
Her eyes were closed. When she stopped speaking, Drusk couldn’t help seeing her as he had left her outside Westerbrook. Pale skin. Still.
“No,” he said, steeling himself. He pushed the image away and concentrated on her as she was now--beautiful, vibrant, alive. “I made a choice, knowing what it would cost me. As did you. Can’t say I would make the same choice again, but that’s not the same as undoing the good I’ve done with that choice by fighting against all that I’ve always protected.”
“Perhaps it’s time to seriously consider choosing another discipline. You would be an adept Speaker,” Imena said. “But there’s more, isn’t there? What else did Krachnis tell you?”
Drusk made a show of arranging the blanket on the floor, groaning all the while. Imena would know he was hesitating. Once he laid down and with several hearty grunts and sighs made himself comfortable on his back, hands behind his head for a pillow and eyes closed--only then did he trust himself to speak.
“Krachnis found Einar’s boy. He’s the new champion,” Drusk said.
Which means you died for nothing, he thought but didn’t dare say.
There was a heavy silence. Any other would suspect Imena had fallen asleep, but he knew her too well. She was thinking. Such periods could extend for minutes or hours, sometimes even days, the two so comfortable with each other neither was bothered by the silence. Then again, it was never really silent when you loved someone as he loved her. Every moment was full of other languages.
The way she twirled the lock of hair which always hung before her face for just that purpose. Her gaze falling on him with the same weight as a hand on his shoulder. In the morning, moving effortlessly around each other, preparing for the day each in their own way, never once colliding as they anticipated exactly what the other would do and how they would move.
Drusk ran through a list of such idiosyncrasies as he drifted into sleep.