Foire’s mourning keens cut me to the core as he stood over Treel’s cooling body. I’d never realized they were mates, or that they had even thought to do so. Keelish didn’t seem to be monogamous, so where did the idea of “mate” even come from for these two? I stopped myself from thinking further on it, instead reaching out a hand and laying it on Foire’s shoulder as he mourned. With my seeming approval of the mourning keens, Took, Vefir, Sybil, and Shemira joined in the piercing wails that carried through the jungle. The sound ripped at my heart, and I joined in, allowing the sense of loss to sweep over me for a moment, the feeling of pain, of love, and of grief.

Though the question of the eggs she mentioned burned inside me, I could wait to ask Foire about them, and instead I let the emotions of mourning wash over and through me. There was much I wanted to know from him, and perhaps Vefir as well, now was not the time.

Regardless of the grief and pain we felt, I didn’t allow myself to drop my guard with the human female. Though she wouldn’t be able to wield a bow or spear with her hand ruined as it was, she could still Speak, and I meant to enforce the command I’d made regarding her continued silence. When I looked at her, though her face was still covered by her beralt, I could tell she watched me constantly, and when I started watching her, she couldn’t contain or hide the shudders of fear that ran through her. Her head kept jumping back and forth, mostly between Shemira and myself, though she also watched the rest of the mourning keelish.

Finally, I decided to walk up to the human, though as I walked, I gestured for Sybil to come with me. She hobbled along, limping from the arrow still in her flank. Immediately, I called Vefir over, and though he was obviously running low on his reserves, he decisively yanked the arrowhead out. Sybil grunted in pain and subconsciously leaned against me with the wave of agony that Vefir’s businesslike ministrations brought. Immediately after removing the barbed head, though, Vefir sent a surge of healing down into Sybil, and she straightened to stand under her own power once again as her flesh knitted itself back together.

Once the healing was complete, Sybil looked up at me, and I felt a surge of pleasure as I saw in her eyes that she understood why I had asked her to accompany me in this interrogation. With each step we took towards the trembling human, Sybil began layering on her magic more and more obviously. Though I wasn’t the target of her magic, I could feel it emanating out from her, and the human cowering before us began to bow her head and begin to nearly silently mumble prayers under her breath.

“-May the Gran Verat deliver me from trouble, may I find peace in the path of righteousness. May I always remember my weakness and the overpowering, almighty strength of the Gran Verat and his purpose. May I find solace in weakness and comfort in pain–” Her mumbled prayers flooded from her mouth with a practiced ease, and for the first time I realized that she was praying. I’d never seen one of my people pray.

“Stop.” My voice rumbled and squeaked at the same time, my throat not built for speaking the language of my previous life. The consistent practice of that unfamiliar tongue had accustomed me enough to be able to vocalize, but to actually talk in a full sentence was nearly impossible without constant stops and readjustments of my jaw, tongue, and throat.

“I… I don’t know what to say. Are you a divine being? Why can you speak??” Her voice was trembling as her words tumbled from her lips, and I raised a hand to keep her from continuing.

“I’m. Ashlani. Your. Name?”

“You… you… I’m Farrah.” She fought to stifle her pained and panicked sobs as she responded.

“Take. Off. Mask. Let. Me. See. Face.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Farrah reached up and untied her scarf from her face before pulling down the hood. Her face was… human. It took me several seconds to realize that hers was a normal face. It had only been a couple moons since my own face had been like hers, but it seemed completely alien to me. I supposed she was pretty, with healthy dark brown skin, thick dark eyebrows above green eyes, and full lips under a narrow nose on a round face. The strands of her black hair that had escaped the tail she’d tied behind her head hung in wet, sweaty strings around and on her face.

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I’d mostly expected her to look amazed at seeing a talking keelish, but her face was screwed up in agony. Of course she was, I’d permanently maimed her hand, and it continued to bleed profusely as I glanced down at it. She was clamping down on that mutilated hand, but still the blood poured from between her fingers. Between the shock of the injury, the fear of her defeat, and the amazement of my speaking, it was no surprise she wasn’t of the soundest mind. Even so, I needed answers.

“How. You. Find. Us?”

Farrah visibly swallowed before seemingly deciding to answer, “Someone saw a pack. We came to hunt–” She seemed to begin to choose her words more carefully, “--to find out what was happening in this part of the jungle.”

“How. Many. Of. You?”

“Um… a lot?” The girl continued panicking, her breaths coming fast and shallow. She was hyperventilating. I could ask any number of questions, but only a couple mattered to me.

“Where. Is. Viertaali. Tribe?”

“The what?”

I loomed closer, towering over her sitting form. “Where. Is. Viertaali. Tribe?”

Confusion darted over Farrah’s face, before she seemed to realize what I was asking. “There… are no more tribes. After the unification, all tribes were dissolved. I think… the Viertaali tribe founded Viertaal? Makes sense if they did...”

“What. Is. Viertaal?”

“The capital city.”

“What. Is. A. City?”

“Where hundreds of thousands of people live. Cities are much larger than our town.” As Farrah spoke about her town, she seemed to gather a little more of herself and began to push off the influence of Sybil’s magic. A thought occurred to me, though, as I learned about this “city”. How long had it been between my death and my rebirth?

“How. Long?”

The recovering Farrah began to resume her hyperventilation.“How long what? Please, just don’t kill me. Please–” Before she could devolve into more blubbering, I gestured at Sybil to reinforce her magic over Farrah and interrupted the girl’s panic.

“How. Long. Since. Viertaal. Was. Founded?” As Sybil’s magic’s influence redoubled on Farrah, the girl swayed in place before answering.

“Two hundred and… maybe thirty years? Maybe longer. I don’t remember.”

The shock of her statement knocked me into silence. While I hadn’t heard the word “year” before, I quickly understood that it meant “summers” as I had called it. Two hundred and thirty summers since my mother’s tribe had established that city, and that couldn’t have been right after my death. Two hundred and thirty summers.

I would never have the opportunity to see my mother. Time had stolen from me the opportunity to kill Viilor. And… it had created hundreds of thousands of Speakers. The disappointment of not being able to slay Viilor was drowned by my final question:

“Why. You. Come. Hunt. Us? If. So. Many. Of. You?”

Farrah fought against the compulsion to answer, and Sybil flared her magic stronger than I’d ever witnessed before. I saw something crack in Farrah, and she answered. “The Great Purge. All keelish must be killed.”

The same as before. There could be no common ground found, and I found the khatif part of me enjoying the realization that combat would be absolutely necessary. I would find an opportunity to prove my strength against greater foes than ever, to combat true Speakers, and even High Speakers. Thousands of them. The thought dampened even my excessive lust for battle, and I was struck with the realization that I couldn’t allow this poor scout to return to her people. As I contemplated how to keep her prisoner, though, the crack in her mind I’d thought I’d seen before was repaired, and Farrah sat up straight, looking me directly in the eye.

“I will speak no longer! You cannot be allowed to live! I am a proud Soulspeaker of the Holy State of the Veratocracy! I will no longer allow my mind to be desecrated by you!” The strength in her denial and stance struck an appreciative chord within me.

“Very. Well. Farrah. You. Have. Proven. Yourself. A. Warrior.”

She seemed surprised at my honest praise, but her face fell as I continued. “I. Cannot. Let. You. Return.” In my own, keelish tongue, I continued, “We are the blade that rips and the shadow that chills.” I motioned for the rest of the pack to back away, and they did so. Farrah looked at me, confused, and I spoke in her tongue, “To. A. Warrior. A. Warrior’s. Death.” I let my words begin to sink in, and the blood drained from the indignant Farrah’s face, but to her credit, she immediately began her Calling, the Words of Power to summon flame thundering from her lips in righteous fury.

I allowed her only long enough to begin to feel the answering sparks from her Calling before I rushed forward. She tried to continue the Call, but I swiftly tore through her throat and then her belly, before decisively running my claws through her heart. As the human, no, Farrah, bled out before me, I bowed my head to her. “I. Choose. My. People.”