“Tell me, Professor,” Wá:ri said, “What has been your favorite plane to see, in your multiverse?”

Evancar ruffled a hand through his curly hair, thinking. He and Wá:ri walked with the rest of Sky Clan. They numbered a few thousand, perhaps, and due to Wá:ri's own physical frailty, they made up the rear of the long caravan of the Oshya:de that were heading towards Amoeboy's commune. It was slow going, for the Oshya:de were starving, on their last legs, supporting the last dregs of their elderly and children.

A few of them had fallen on the journey, and had not gotten up. They were free from the demon, yes, but there was still much road to traverse. If a few of the Workers had not come over with food, passing out rations of bread and meat and corn, Evancar was sure that many of them would not have made it this far.

The Workers remained with the Oshya:de. A few kept their distance. A few helped load the weakest of the Oshya:de onto their wagons, to pull them along with the rest of the caravan. But Wá:ri had refused. It was her duty as Clan Mother, she stated, to walk with her people. There were others who needed the wagons more than her.

And so she walked. With Evancar for company, for it seemed like talking with others kept her spirits up.

“Well,” Evancar said, “I don't have a favorite plane, per say...”

“One that appeals to you, then,” Wá:ri said.

The archaeologist thought for a few moments, absently watching the wind pick up on the plain, plucking a few dandelion tree seeds and scattering them like shed feathers.

“Barren Iluthian,” he said, “It's an Elven plane.”

“Elven?” Wá:ri asked, “What are those?”

“Elves,” Evancar said, “They're a race of people who have pointed ears. Many of them are known to live for several thousands of years. Nice people, depending on where you go. They've got a strain of supremacism in their recent history, but the average elf I've run into has been fine enough. One of my guildmate's an elf, Rosemary, she's nice...”

He noted her staring up at him with something akin to wonder. He coughed.

“Well, yes,” he said, “Barren Iluthian is a plane I visited some years back. An archaeological dig sponsored by some bigwig or other. Six months of sitting in a canyon, dusting away old pot shards and the like.”

He grew wistful.

“But it was a beautiful canyon. It had waterfalls that sprayed down into a winding river. It was always cool, too, and every morning I'd get to get up before everyone else and watch some of the most magnificent birds I've ever seen fly around, searching for breakfast. The couple that hosted us were an old husband and wife who had been married for over five hundred years.”

“Five... hundred... years?” Wá:ri said.

“Yeah,” Evancar said, chuckling, “But elves, they don't age like we do. They both looked a hair under thirty.”

“Five hundred years,” Wá:ri said, and she looked blank, “You lie to me.”

“Trust me, I'm not!” Evancar gesticulated, “Five hundred years!”

He was aware of a few of the other Sky Clan members laughing at him under their breaths.

“And, tell me, Professor,” Wá:ri said, “Did they have a child a year? Five hundred little ones, running around?”

“Well,” Evancar said, “N-No, they had three, if I recall, and all of them lived off-plane.”

“Off-plane?” Wá:ri said, “So, they lived away from their parents.”

“All children leave the flock, I suppose,” Evancar said.

“Perhaps the men,” Wá:ri said, “Women here stay with their families, and only the men leave to marry into other families.”

“I see,” Evancar said, “Your people, they are matrilineal?”

Wá:ri looked askance.

“The Oshya:de, they are led by women, and trace their family lines by the mother, and not the father.”

“That is correct,” Wá:ri said, “I am Clan Mother of Sky Clan. My mother was Clan Mother before me, though she was my birth mother's sister.”

“Except for Warleader,” Evancar said.

“In peace, he is Chief,” Wá:ri said, “In times of war, he is Warleader. He is elected by the Clan Mothers to organize hunts, negotiate with other Clans, and other work associated with men. But he ultimately listens to the Clan Mothers.”

“I see,” Evancar said, “Very different from most other places.”

“Oh?” Wá:ri said, “What about where you are from? Who leads your guild?”

“A guildmaster,” Evancar said, “Ours is a woman, but a guildmaster can be anyone. Different guilds have different ways of choosing a guildmaster.”

“I see,” Wá:ri said.

“For example, another guild I used to be part of, the Emberpetals, elected their guildmasters by direct vote. Whoever gained the most votes became guildmaster, and they served as such for around five years.”

Wá:ri nodded at this.

“The Clan Mothers do something similar,” she said, “Under usual circumstances, the next Clan Mother is the daughter of the old Clan Mother, but she must still be approved by the other women in the family...”

And she looked downcast at this. Evancar raised an eyebrow.

“That happened with you, yes?” he said.

“Yes, Professor,” Wá:ri said, “...I am Clan Mother. Approved by the other women of Sky Clan. In the caves.”

She wiped her eyes.

“I had... hoped it would be my sister,” she said, “But no. She was...”

She did not finish.

But Evancar understood.

The other Sky Clan members were looking at her. Wá:ri covered herself for a moment with a sleeve for a moment. When she stared forward, it was with a brave face, a stone mask that could put Becenti to shame.

“Tell me, Professor,” Wá:ri said, “What else have you seen? What was your own... home plane, like?”

She wanted to change the subject away from herself. Evancar understood that. He forced his frown away, put on a jovial air once more.

“Well!” Evancar said, “My home plane is a place called Melmaen. Nice place, all things considered, if you can ignore the wartorn environment and the Writ of Exile your uncle wrote you when you were seventeen...”

***

Nasir and Hadawa'ko walked together, nearer to the front of the train. The Warleader carried Guyasuta on his shoulders, his tomahawk looped on a belt, and he kept watching the sky. High above, watching the line of Oshya:de, were a few New Ludayans from the Warrior class. One on bat-like wings, one atop a canoe made of leaves, one seemed like a spirit of flame, circling the air like an eternal torch, watching the line below.

They had not made any moves upon the Oshya:de.

Yet.

One of the Workers walked up to the pair of them. Hadawa'ko's eyes narrowed at the sight of him. Stepping Stone was a metahuman composed entirely of bismuth, iridescent and shimmering in the daytime sun. He walked unsteadily with his mismatched legs, one a spiraling series of metallic stone, the other a Picasso-esque nightmare of steps and blocks. He smiled glumly at them as he approached.

“I recognize one of 'em, up there,” he said, pointing, “The one in the canoe. Leafy, she's called.”

“Imaginative name,” Nasir said.

“Will they attempt to attack us?” Hadawa'ko said.

“They might,” Stepping Stone admitted, “But I think they're just keeping tabs on us. One of the other Workers just came here, said there was some conflict back at Amoeboy's commune, and it's got everyone being careful.”

“Anyone hurt?” Nasir asked.

“Someone died, if the rumor goes,” Stepping Stone said, “So everyone's being careful not to start anything.”

Hadawa'ko nodded at this, looking up at the three Warriors above.

“The advantage is ours, then,” he said, “We can get to this commune safely, then.”

The Warleader grimaced. He didn't like the fact that all of the Oshya:de were moving to the commune. They would be exposed there, and were increasingly reliant on the goodwill of the Workers.

But what choice was there?

Guyasuta tapped Hadawa'ko's head. A signal to be let down. Hadawa'ko did so, watching the last of the Four Banner disappear into the crowd, presumably to keep watch from a less conspicuous place. A smart move. Hadawa'ko wished he could join him.

But no, to be Warleader was to lead from the front. He signaled to a few of the other warriors with him, and they continued watching the metahumans above.

***

There was no choice but to rest a few hours later. The Oshya:de settled down under a series of dandelion trees. What food they had was passed around, and another small series of wagons from the Workers at the commune pulled in to provide more. Sacks of grain were unloaded, fires were set. Leafy and the other metahumans kept watch on them as they ate. Nasir watched them, too, standing by Hadawa'ko and a band of his warriors were rethreading bows and checking over arrows. Before they had left, they had tried to scrounge from the overgrown storage houses what they could. But Iconoclast had destroyed much that was there.

Hadawa'ko looked at the tracker. Nasir was leaning against the trunk of a dandelion tree, his eyes studying the three figures above.

“Do you use bows much, Nasir?” the Warleader asked.

“I have used them before,” Nasir replied, “My father taught me to hunt using one.”

“You don't carry many other weapons, aside from your knives,” Hadawa'ko said.

Nasir shrugged.

“I had thought to bring a rifle along. We snuck a few in. But I was already with a few guildmates,” he said, “The less attention we drew, the better.”

“And they could defend you, if need be,” Hadawa'ko said.

“I can defend myself,” Nasir said, “But… we were going for stealth, not for a show. I will take a bow, however, if you can spare one.”

The Warleader handed him one. Nasir looked it over, pulled at the string. It was supple and strong.

“Well made,” he said.

“The wood is from a grandfather tree,” Nasir said, and he patted the dandelion's trunk, “The string is made from deer's gut.”

“Back home,” Nasir said, “We mostly used scavenged bows made from plastics and metal. Wooden bows were expensive, for the art of making them was a re-discovered craft, and the fletchers made us pay out the nose for their services.”

Another one of Hadawa'ko's warriors handed him a quiver full of arrows. Nasir nocked an arrow, pulling the string back. Yes, a good amount of resistance. The arrow would yet fly.

“And how would you judge an Arrowmaker's bow?” Hadawa'ko said, “Sagoyewatha's father made it himself.”

One of the warriors, a younger man, smiled in fierce pride.

“It is good,” Nasir said, “It will kill, and will not break. The only two things that matter.”

“The Arrowmakers are the greatest bowmakers on Ganá:yeht,” Sagoyewatha said, “You talk to anyone here with a weapon, I will tell you that it came from us. They are the only ones that survived the purges.”

Nasir fired the arrow. It whistled off into the grass.

“Good range,” Nasir said.

He walked from the rest of them, picked the arrow from where it was buried in the grass.

When he returned, Hadawa'ko was speaking to the rest of his warriors.

“From what rumors tell us, there was conflict at the commune,” he said, “The metahumans fought each other, and one of them was killed.”

“So they can be killed then,” Sagoyewatha said, “How?”

“I don't know,” the Warleader said, “But these people are, for the most part, of flesh and muscle. Save for perhaps those like Stepping Stone.”

He glanced up as Nasir returned.

“Is that right?” he asked.

Nasir shrugged.

“It depends on the metahuman,” he said, “They are known as the myriad folk for a reason. Each one dies a different way.”

“Have you ever killed one before?” Hadawa'ko asked.

“I have fought a few,” Nasir said, “Killed? Yes. Mostly using a bow, or a rifle. From a distance, where they couldn't harm me. But some metahumans have ranged abilities. You will learn that, if you wish to free your homeland, you will need to be as adaptable as they are.”

Hadawa'ko thought about this.

“What about the three above us?” he said, “Leafy, and those.”

Nasir watched the three Warriors circling above the caravan. One of them was breaking off from the other two, the one with the bat-like wings. He wheeled and headed south, back to Mt. Redress.

“Leafy's got the head of a reptile, I believe,” Nasir said, squinting his eyes, “She appears to be able to pull leaves together to form constructs of her own. The fact that she is a Warrior means she can be quite dangerous with what she can make. But if she is flesh, then an arrow, or an axe will bring her down.”

“And the man made of fire?” Hadawa'ko said.

Nasir studied him. No, not truly a man, not anymore. The metahuman above seemed to have no physical form. It was as though a flame had leaped from its candle and gone to live its own life.

“...Smother it,” Nasir said, “Fire relies on oxygen, you deprive it of this, and it will go out.”

“And if that doesn't work?” Hadawa'ko said.

“Run away, and try something else,” Nasir said, “The important part is that you survive the encounter. You will get a chance to fight the metahuman again.”

The Oshya:de thought on the tracker's words. They were, to a man, young and perhaps a hair naive. Hadawa'ko was the eldest of them, and he was, perhaps, twenty. They spoke brashly, despite the horrors they had seen. There was that energy of boyish retribution to them, now that they finally had the chance to avenge their people.

They would learn, soon, that passion would not be enough. They would need to be smart, be cunning, learn the lessons their fathers would have taught them, in order to survive.

***

“In ancient days,” Kariwase said, “There was the Good Spirit and Father Mountain. Father Mountain lived alone in those times, with only the Good Spirit and water animals such as the beaver, the loon, and the muskrat for company. It was a world of darkness then, and Father Mountain was lonely and foolish, and he did many brash things.”

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A group of children were gathered around the old man as he sat at a small campfire. They listened in wonder as Kariwase warbled on with his cracked voice, like the hottest day of summer given song, as he told the first tale of the Oshya:de.

Also listening was six-fingered Dodeca Dorucanthos. She had come with the Workers here, to help provide food and, if need be, defense. She was sitting outside of the circle, a heavy-powered plasma rifle resting between neck and shoulder, and she absently picked at the grass as Kariwase spun his tale.

“One day, Father Mountain lost his temper. The reasons why are unknown to us, for it happened a long time ago. But he thrashed and he roared, and he threw such a fit that he sent stones into the sky, and they would become the sun, the moon, and the stars. He lifted himself up, just a bit, and dry land broke up all around him. When he was done, he fell asleep, and the Good Spirit came down to see how much he had changed the once dark world.”

Kariwase licked his lips.

“The Good Spirit began to gather up reeds and mud, and he gave them to Father Mountain to eat. Father Mountain ate them greedily, and when he was done, he opened up his mouth, and he began to spit forth the first people. The first of the Oshya:de, gathered in their clans of Four Banner, Dandelion, Arrowmaker, Sky, and Mountain. Yes, even then, there were the five clans, for the Good Spirit saw it fit to organize us into these structures, so each of us would think slightly differently about the world, and come together to discuss our ideas.”

“And then what?” one of the children asked.

Kariwase chuckled.

“There was battle, of course,” he said, “War, like the kind we see now. The five clans agreed on some things, but they disagreed on many others. Who would fish from one river or another, who would marry who, who got to visit Father Mountain in his sleep. People got so angry, they took up the bows that the Good Spirit had taught them to use to hunt animals, and turned them on each other. For a long time, there was war.”

People were starting to break camp. It was time to move on. Kariwase looked up at them, and he broke into a sad smile.

“But that, the Tale of the Settled Peace, is for another time,” the old man said, “Now, please, help me up.”

Two of the older kids helped Kariwase to his feet, helped him over to the wagon, helped him as he pulled himself onto it, resting on a bundle of old hay. A few of the younger children were loaded up as well, and the wagon moved off with the rest of the caravan.

Dodeca joined them, walking beside one of the wheels. She looked up at Kariwase.

“A creation story,” she said.

Kariwase looked down at her. At the rifle in her hand, the way she carried herself, taut and angry. But he shrugged, for he was used to angry youths.

“It is the one my grandmother told me,” he said, “I still remember the first time she told me the story, when I was a boy. It was around a fire in my family's longhouse. It had been a cold night, the middle of winter...”

He smiled wistfully. Though it dropped quickly.

“I am glad,” he said, “That she is not here. That she's not here to see what we have become.”

“Not your fault,” Dodeca said.

“Even so,” Kariwase said, “She died knowing her grandchildren's futures were bright. Who could imagine the unimaginable? That there are other worlds than the world of Father Mountain, and people like the woman in white...”

He shook his head.

“Did you know,” he said, “It is the mother's role to pass down our old stories? She tells them to her daughters and sons, but it is her daughter's responsibility to remember them. To pass them down to her own children. But I loved the stories my grandmother told me. I held onto every last one of them.”

He gestured at the world.

“And now I am one of the last of the elderly left,” he said, “And I've spoken to some of the others. Old friends from other clans. Their memory is going, and they do not remember. It seems like I'm the only one who does.”

“So it's your job to pass it down,” Dodeca said.

“How we must change,” Kariwase said, “What I do today, will set a precedent to last seven generations. Storytelling will not just be the work of mothers and grandmothers.”

“Where I'm from,” Dodeca said, “Anyone could tell the story of the past.”

Kariwase looked down at her.

“My mum, before she passed away, used to tell me stories of the past,” the metahuman said,

“How she and my dad met. About her metahuman kingdom, or as much of it as she could remember. Bits and pieces here and there. Our family, thousands of years ago, lived on the coast of a shimmering, golden sea. We constructed castles made of coral and seashell.”

“Seashell,” Kariwase said, “What is a seashell?”

Dodeca blinked, but then remembered that there was no ocean on New Lud- on Ganá:yeht.

“It's like the shells you find on the shores of the lakes here,” Dodeca said, “By the sea. A big-ass lake.”

Kariwase nodded at this.

“It sounds like a beautiful place,” he said, “Why did you leave?”

“Why else?” Dodeca said, and her voice turned into a growl, “The damn Federation drove us out. The same Federation that killed my mom.”

“And thus, you have to tell her stories, lest your generation forgets,” Kariwase said.

Dodeca blinked at this. The thought had not occurred to her.

“...Yeah, I guess so,” she said, “You need to understand, there's a shitton that we've lost already. We don't even remember our kingdom's name.”

“But you remember it was by the sea,” Kariwase said, “You have that.”

“Yes.”

“Just as I remember how Father Mountain disgorged us,” the old man said, “These lessons, we must remember. We remember, or we lose everything.”

***

At last, they arrived at Amoeboy's commune.

The area was pockmarked with burn marks. A few of the metahumans there were injured. Cobalt Joe was shivering in the corner. Lunus Oculus had been crying. Dodeca pushed herself through the crowd to see her.

“What happened?” the Dorucanthos asked.

“Thunderhead's dead,” Lunus Oculus said, “Iconoclast killed him.”

Dodeca took a moment to absorb the information. Breathed in. Out. Looked out to the horizon.

“Sh-shit,” she said, “Lune, you okay?”

She was shaking, herself. Lunus Oculus nodded.

“I've lost people before,” she said, her voice raw, “I'll be fine.”

She regained her composure. Watched the long line of Oshya:de streaming in. Thousands upon thousands of them, and only around a hundred Workers to tend to them. People were passing out bundles of food. Children started to cry. An argument was already breaking out between one of the Oshya:de and a Worker.

“This was our home!” the Oshya:de was screaming, “Our longhouse was right here! Where is it? Where is my mother buried? Where is the lodge where they held my brother's body?”

She was holding onto the Worker's legs, trying to pull them down. The Worker was trying to extricate themself.

“I don't know!” they said, “I don't know!”

Indeed, there was only the grass plains and Amoeboy's barn and the small scattering of houses where his commune lived. It were as though the Oshya:de were new arrivals to this place.

(For Luminary had done her damnedest to reclaim the plane's virginity.)

Nearby, Hadawa'ko was moving off with his warriors towards the barn. Rohahes emerged from the building, watching the line of refugees in their homeland, and at the sight of the Warleader he gestured for Tekahentakwa to come out. The Clan Mother of Mountain had been hiding away in the barn, protected by the bulk of Needle's influence, since Iconoclast and his Warriors had tried to take them by force.

She ran over to her brother, and the two embraced, for a split-second once more children, and their worries were children's worries. But then they were leaders once more, and watched the caravan break camp.

A few of the Warriors loyal to Luminary were still wheeling around in the sky. Leafy and the fireborn metahuman were still following the caravan, joined by a few others. In the far distance, just on the horizon, Hadawa'ko could see Gallimena.

“I heard that someone died here,” Hadawa'ko said.

“It was Thunderhead,” Tekahentakwa said, “One of the Council killed him during a skirmish.”

Her brother pursed his lips.

“He seemed a good man,” he said, “I'm sure he died well.”

Tekahentakwa had only been able to see the battle through slats in the wood. She just saw hints of Thunderhead's crash into the earth. She had allowed the metahumans to bury him already, just outside of the commune. A short funeral, for the Oshya:de's arrival meant that things had become busy.

She shuddered.

“How many did we lose?” she asked.

“On the way over?” Hadawa'ko said, “The other Clan Mothers gave me reports every day, but the number was small. Around a dozen people.”

Tekahentakwa took an unsteady breath.

“There was no choice,” Hadawa'ko said, “We could not stay in the mountains.”

“That doesn't mean I shouldn't feel sorrow for them,” Tekahentakwa said.

“I didn't say that.”

And now the Clan Mother studied her brother, and realized how much of a brave front he was presenting to the world. There was a deep-seated fear in his eyes, and she could still see in them her little brother who cried at the sight of dried-up frogs in the summer.

She rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I know,” she said, “It just hurts for you to talk about us like that.”

“I must be like a rock,” Hadawa'ko said, “A rock does not cry. A rock does not...”

His lower lip quivered.

“Father never cried.”

“Not in front of us,” Tekahentakwa said.

“...Is it alright if I do?” Hadawa'ko said, “In the barn?”

“Of course,” Tekahentakwa said, “I'll be waiting outside.”

The Warleader drew into the barn. She heard his quiet sobs, and chose to ignore them.

***

“Are you alright, Joe?” Aldreia asked.

Her guildmate was leaning against the fence by the barn. The Oshya:de were here, and Rohahes was still Tekahentakwa's bodyguard, but he still felt a need to keep an eye on the Clan Mother. There was a way that the Warriors above were circling them. Not like vultures, waiting for the dying to stumble.

More like hawks, about to fall like bullets and strike.

So he kept himself close to Tekahentakwa.

“I'm fine,” he said, and he was perhaps a bit more terse than he had expected, for the cleric gave him a severe look, “Alright, maybe I'm not.”

“Is it that eagle of yours?” Aldreia asked, “The Shadow of the Giant did a number to it.”

“Mordenaro did worse,” Joseph replied, “No. It's...”

He sighed.

“It's what he said,” Cobalt Joe said, “About my soul. I can see through it, right?”

“I'm aware,” Aldreia said.

“No, you don't get it,” Joe said, “I can see what it's seeing right now. In my stomach. Hell of a double vision, let me tell you.”

The cleric blinked, unsure of how to respond.

“And… it didn't before?” Aldreia asked.

“No,” Joe said, “It was just something I felt, at first. Like it was something distinct from me, to be called up when I needed it.”

He studied the flying metahumans above.

“But lately, that's changed,” he said, “I can see what it sees at all times. Sometimes, when I dream, it's as an eagle, and not as myself. It makes me think, what happens if I die?”

He looked back at his guildmate.

“I mean, I wouldn't go to an afterlife, right? My soul might remove itself from the body. It would be me. And I'd... I guess I'd still be around.”

“And you aren't sure how to feel about that,” Aldreia said.

“Right,” Joe said, “What the Shadow of the Giant said... that his Giant existed before him...”

He shook his head.

“It's hard for me to parse.”

“I'm afraid I can't say much to that,” Aldreia said, “The nature of the soul changes from person to person, I've found. Different religions have different doctrines, and different ways that it's split up. I was taught that our souls belong to Pelliad, and that it is a a small shard of sunlight allowed to live as flesh.”

“The elves believe that the soul is fleeting,” Joe said, “That, in exchange for a longer life, their soul disappears after death, to be absorbed into the ether.”

“So, perhaps it will do that,” Aldreia said.

“Maybe,” Joe said.

Aldreia faltered, unsure of what else to say. She and Cobalt Joe didn't talk very often. Nor had they gone on a job together before. He usually hung around with Rosemary and Phineas...

But they were guildmates, and perhaps that would be enough.

(By Pelliad, she wanted a drink.)

By and large, he shook himself from his funk, and looked up at the flying metahumans.

“We should make sure they don't try anything funny,” he said, “A few of the Workers here have weaponry, but as far as I'm aware, you and Lunus Oculus are the only ones who use magic, and I'm one of the only metahumans with combat abilities.”

“I'll talk to Professor Morandus and Nasir,” Aldreia said, “And we should get a message to Becenti, let him know that the Oshya:de are here.”

“Right,” Joe said, “I'll talk to Amoeboy.”

Hadawa'ko was stepping out of the barn. He was wiping his face, and hugged Tekahentakwa briefly. The two of them noted Joseph and Aldreia. Tekahentakwa waved at them.

Joe waved back.

***

“As far as we're aware,” Hadawa'ko said, “There have been no attacks since the one here.”

A war council was called. The Clan Mothers, along with Hadawa'ko, were gathered. Joe, Evancar, and Aldreia were attending as well. Lunus Oculus and Amoeboy, too. Lunus Oculus had broken down crying again before the session, but she was nonetheless steeled for what was to come.

They met in Amoeboy's house, in the kitchen. Most of them sat at the table. Joe leaned against a counter, his arms crossed.

“There are around one thousand warriors who are in fighting shape,” Hadawa'ko said, “Most of us are armed with bows and knives. A few tomahawks and clubs.”

“Many o’ the Workers know how to use weapons,” Amoeboy said, “We kin potentially raid Mt. Redress's weapons storage to arm ourselves.”

“How many Workers are like Needle?” Joe asked.

“Like Needle in what way?” Amoeboy asked.

“She skipped out on the tests, right?” Joe said, “I've seen her power. It's something that would've made her a Warrior.”

Amoeboy scratched his chin.

“A few, I'm sure,” he said, turning to Lunus, “Ye got any ideas?”

“I can talk to a few people,” Lunus Oculus said, “We're still putting a number of Workers who are joining up with us. A lot of the resistance to Luminary's disorganized and in small pockets. I know Glow separated with a few metahumans to do something. I haven't heard from the Giant Northern Termite Queen.”

(The Oshya:de blinked at this name.)

“You don't think she's been hurt, has she?” Evancar said, wringing his hands.

“The Queen?” Lunus Oculus said, and she shook her head, “No. She's off doing her own thing, I'm sure. She tends to.”

“What about the Warriors?” Joe asked.

“Luminary kept a tighter grip on them,” Lunus Oculus said, “Rainbowfish talked about going to try and turn some of them away. We'll see how that goes.”

“Right,” Joe said.

“We should start talking about potential areas of weakness,” Hadawa'ko said, “What is the center of power of New Ludaya?”

Lunus Oculus grimaced.

“I know how ye feel, kid,” Amoeboy said, “This ain't pretty. But they've already drawn blood.”

The purple-eyed metahuman nodded.

“I know,” she said, “The area that the Council mostly resides in is Mt. Redress.”

“Which is?” Hadawa'ko said.

“It's a mountain to the south of here, right on the edge of the plane,” Lunus Oculus said, “Pauldros the Stonemaker has carved an extensive network of tunnels and rooms inside. It's where most of the governmental offices are. Storehouses, too.”

“It's Father Mountain,” Otstoch said.

Dandelion's Clan Mother swallowed and glared at Lunus Oculus.

“You monsters, you've carved him up,” she said.

The meeting lapsed into a tense silence. Hadawa'ko was frowning. Tekahentakwa looked to be on the verge of tears, for she and her brother had lived at the foot of Father Mountain. To think of him hollowed out...

“That is a conversation for later.”

The voice came from Degonwadonti. Clan Mother of the Arrowmakers. She had armed herself, too, with a bow and quiver.

“For now,” Degonwadonti continued, “We need to think of what our immediate needs are. We have a thousand Oshya:de warriors, and an unnumbered amount of metahumans willing to help resist.”

“But what is the final goal, here?” Lunus Oculus asked.

“It is simple,” Hadawa'ko said, “You leave.”

Lunus Oculus suppressed an urge to flinch.

“And go where?” Amoeboy asked, “Back out there? Where the Federation’ll tear us up like dogs?”

“I do not care,” Hadawa'ko said.

“Well, you're not going to win any friends with that line,” Joe growled.

Silence. The Warleader glared at the guildmate. Ozone began scenting the room.

“Again,” Degonwadonti said, “That is a conversation for later. Negotiations that can be had when the woman in white is gone.”

“We can agree on that,” Amoeboy said, “I don't think this is a discussion to have now, not when y'all are still on the brink.”

Hadawa'ko grimaced. But he did not dissent.

“Let's make that our primary goal, then,” Lunus Oculus said, “I'll talk to the other Workers protesting. Our aim is to remove the Council from power.”

She looked around at the group.

“Is that agreeable?”

Hadawa'ko thought about this.

Then, he nodded.

“It will do, for now,” he said, “But know that we will have discussions again.”

“'Course, son,” Amoeboy said, “But let's not put the cart before the horse, here.”

“Ah, excuse me,” Evancar said, and he raised a hand.

“This isn't school, Professor,” Lunus Oculus said, and she smiled at him, “You can talk.”

“What happens if Luminary comes here herself?” he said, “She could wipe us all out if she wanted. A big column of Warriors, or the Pit invokes her pacts again, or...”

“She can't,” Lunus Oculus said, “Not without the entire nation rising up against her.”

“Oh?” Evancar said.

“A lot of people are shaken by all of this,” Lunus Oculus said, “They see the Oshya:de as... not comrades, but there's similar history between us. Or... there is now, at least.”

“And by attacking them again like she did will make her lose what little credibility she has left,” Evancar said.

“She'll be more forceful, as more turn on her,” Amoeboy said, “The Professor does raise a good point. If she goes and loses all credibility with folks, she'll have no choice but to use violence to remain in power.”

“We can scatter to the forests, then,” Hadawa'ko said, “We shouldn't be gathered like this, anyways.”

“The forests, the mountains, everywhere,” Degonwadonti said, “You speak of the other metahumans striking from different areas. We should be the same.”

“Guerilla warfare,” Evancar said, “It's a nasty battle. But we're the underdogs here.”

“Agreed,” Lunus Oculus said, “Warleader, you and yours know the landscape better than we do. Organize yourselves as you see fit.”

“Take a couple o' metahumans with ya,” Amoeboy said, “I can get a few with messenger abilities to join up with y'all, to keep in touch.”

“Very well,” Hadawa'ko said, “We will do so. I'll let you know who I wish to join us.”

They quibbled over a few more minor details, but at the day's end they had a solid plan. The day disappeared.

The moon's phases on Ganá:yeht were erratic. They did not change on a daily basis, like on other planes. It was as though the moon was alive, and opened its great, single eye at its leisure.

Thus, Lunus Oculus's eyes were purple for only a short time. They changed as the sky burned orange, then burnt out completely and revealed the stars. Yet the sunset did not leave her eyes, rather it held there, twin wildfires that glowed in the night.

***

The Sovereign Melody warped into Impellia III's star system. Scanners and sensors powered up, scouting vessels left the hangar bays to go to each individual planet, in case the Mutts had managed to set up additional bases in the system, and claimed it as a whole.

But aside from a couple of random unmanned outposts here and there, they found nothing. Impellia III was where they had concentrated most of their power.

Valm was woken up late in the artificial night. Bell-like chimes, a quiet alarm that nevertheless roused him from his sleep. He picked up his communicator with slender, over-long fingers and brought it to his ear.

“What is it?” the guildmaster said.

“It's Impellia III,” Old Scar said on the other line, “Looks like our projections were right. Life signs are there, and they're metahuman.”

A thin smile crawled on Valm's lips.

“Good,” he said, “I'll be right there. Start up a bioscan. See how many there are.”

He rose from his bed, and began putting on his robes. He felt the entire ship lurch as it entered the Warp to rush towards Impellia III.

And Olendris Valm brushed his teeth while the High Federation flew, once more, to do what it did best.