After five days of hiking back to rendezvous with the glirdon, I am filled with frustrated regret that I decided to protect my four cellmates in their journey to Tackenae. A journey that I made in less than a fourth of a day by flying upon Cran’s back in the form of a wooden bird, was extended to what feels like a journey hundreds of times longer than it had to be. After days of stuttered hiking as my companions needed to take breaks to eat, sleep, rest, and perform other humanly necessities, I am finally back at Claw Wing Peak’s embassy house.

“Otatad, we made it” I curse and a subconscious memory causes me to clutch Cran tighter in my hand and flinch expecting my father to hit me over the head with his lute for speaking probably the foulest word in celandilic that I know of. However, after spending several days learning how to speak the Tackian dialect from Prorem this foul word that escapes my mouth almost feels mundane for the near constant vulgarity that seemingly streams from the Tackian form of speaking.

Prorem slaps me on the back and smiles, “it’s good to see that you are picking up the Tackian dialect I’ve been teaching you these last few days.”

“I still can’t understand how Othenel was able to preserve the celandilic tongue basically unaltered from the way my father spoke, but somehow Tackenae found it best to slap on the most offensive words I know onto nearly every noun and definite article,” I say shaking my head, “why in the deepest hells was it decided by the people of Tackenae to collectively decide that slapping the words oto and ata to gender nouns was a good idea. It’s like the Tackian people made the most vulgar version of a childish secret language purposefully created to make my ears bleed. How is a table masculine? It doesn’t have a dick, but now the word for table in the Tackian dialect has the most vulgar word for male genitalia slapped onto it.”

“Apparently the lost word of otatan and several variations of said word were seen as legendary words of power uttered by the lightning god Turas,” explains Prorem to my utter dismay. Somehow, a linguistic quirk my father made sure to moderate in himself as a father and beat out of me when I was a kid was coopted by a people that now worship him as a god.

I moan in pain at this historical revelation and say, “you know what otatan means right?”

“Nope, just that it is a meaningless yet holy word to the Tack herdsmen,” says Prorem grinning at my clear discomfort.

“I’ve told you what oto means, and ata is the female equivalent, so the combination of the two words into the verb otatan is a vulgar word for expressing frustration, insulting someone, or… it’s literal translation… it’s a vulgar or extremely intimate verb meaning… to make love,” I say blushing as I explain. Now that I actually know how to interpret the Tackian dialect, it makes me physically cringe to know it’s my father’s fault that they speak the way they do.

Prorem seeing me hesitate in speaking the translation of otatan presses the issue, “wait… you were just telling me a translation of a word lost to time, so why so embarrassed? Don’t got any experience now with the art of love, or don’t got any interest.”

I push Prorem away from me and say, “I’d say love is just a synonym for pain for me.”

“Love is amazing, but can be amazingly painful as well,” says Prorem the smile he was wearing fading from his face as he reminisces on a thought that momentarily takes him but he visibly appears to shove the thought away within himself as fast as it dominated him, “whatever you went through can’t be so bad that love ’ll always be synonymous with pain, can it?”

“The woman I spent my whole life trying to save from her abusive father, turned out to be a princess that if I were to marry her could have created a civil war killing thousands,” I rattle off to see if Prorem would change the stance he just posited, “I was obligated by my uncle to fake my death, and watch the woman I love mourn me long enough to fall into the arms of another man who I watched sweep her off her feet, marry her, and then take her away to a place where I’ll never see her again. Now all of my childhood dreams are dead, and I’m becoming what my younger self would call a monster as I break solemn oaths I made to her when I actually could hold an ideal close to my heart.”

“Tell me, is she happy?” asks Prorem which disarms me enough to acknowledge his question with a confirming nod, “I’d love to hear the longer version of this story one day, but take comfort in that she found happiness again. The dead can’t speak, can’t feel, can’t love again, but the living can. You’re both alive, so let yourself love again, as it’s not like you have to live for him.”

Prorem sees that I’m about to ask him a question and ruffles my hair to stop me from speaking, “look lad, I like you, but this ol’ dog has his secrets, that he’d like to keep secret for now.”

“Good, I caught up!” pants Khub whose face is now a brighter red than his hair, “I ran ahead of the others… two to tell you that we need to stop... Priest’s… old… need… rest… oh gosh… princess… tending.”

“Again,” says Prorem in disbelief, “I assumed that their slow pace to get to Vilendura’s crown was because they were trying to be careful, but that priest’s stamina is as small and flimsy as a stalk of grass.”

“We’ve arrived to where I needed to go, so they can take their time now, as we are now amidst… friends,” I say pointing to the wooden door covering the tunnel system making the Claw Wing Peak embassy house, “you all can rest, eat, bathe, prepare yourselves for the journey to Tackenae. As for me, I have things to take care of.”

“Go,” says Khub doubling over to try and regain his breath, “we’ll wait here.”

Before I go running off to the summit, I knock on the door of the embassy house as I should introduce my companions to the teratolion before the teratolion introduce themselves. The door flings open and hits me square in the face.

“The door hit something,” says Mlinzi as I try to regain my composure after being hit in the face with the door.

“Well try again, but try putting some effort into it,” says Upendo, and before I can recover fully from the first door slam, the door swings open and hits me again knocking me to the ground.

“By the gods, he sunk Shoron Gaol, but it’s a door that killed him,” says Upendo looking down at me groaning in pain on the ground.

Mlinzi smiles at my plight and says, “if I had known it was you who were blocking the door I’d had put my shoulder into it.”

“Oh, and it looks like we have guests!” says Upendo excitedly beckoning Khub and Prorem into the embassy house as Mlinzi helps me up from the ground.

“A teratolion that speaks Othenese, did I miss something in school growing up as I was taught that the teratolion have their own language that uses hand signs and couldn’t physically speak the human tongue,” says Khub staring at Upendo and Mlinzi with exasperation.

Prorem elbows Khub playfully and says, “weren’t you the one who said that the Visga don’t hold their beliefs sacred as one day’s truth is tomorrow’s lie?”

“Most humans who have interacted with a teratolion have only ever interacted with enslaved teratolion, who in most cases have their tongues cut out,” explains Mlinzi in response to Khub’s question. Before continuing his thought, he opens his fanged muzzle to thrash his tongue about to show Khub how he speaks, “the language the teratolion speak uses sounds that some humans find frightening. Thus, to appease human fears, slavers cut the tongues of teratolion slaves they capture as a heinous way to increase the selling price of their violently procured merchandise. In fact, tongues aren’t the only things that are removed, as often the top joint of a teratolion slave’s finger is the location where a teratolion slave’s claws are amputated for similar reasons.”

Upendo smacks the back of Mlinzi’s head and says, “lets refrain from such morbid subjects, can’t you see you are frightening our guests.”

I look at Khub who is turning white as he looks at Mlinzi’s fangs and long dagger-like claws that he unwittingly brandished in a way that might have been interpreted as a threat. Prorem on the other hand seemed to understand that Mlinzi was merely explaining the teratolion world to Khub, and is barely containing his laughter as he watches Khub shake in his boots.

“We made it…” says Choyera and unlike Khub she falls straight on her face at the slightest glance of Mlinzi.

“Well, princess down,” says Prorem kneeling down to flip over Choyera and lie her head in his lap as he fans her with his large cap.

“DEMON LORD!” yells priest Chiphuzitso.

“Skath he’s got a knife,” says Prorem calmly as he continues to fan Choyera, and with that warning a small blood spear launches from my arm and disarms the priest before he can do any harm to Upendo or Mlinzi.

“How does he keep getting those?” I ask and Prorem shrugs and purses his lips as he shakes his head just as bewildered as I am that the priest seemingly has an endless supply of various shanking implements that he’s attempted to murder me with several times every day we’ve traveled together.

Khub bites his lip and says, “I have no idea either. I bet you anything, that he has a secret stache under his robes, or Choyera is keeping them in her dress which ain’t hiding much. All I know is my pack is overflowing with knives I’ve confiscated just in our small journey here.”

Khub removes a pack from his back and empties its contents on the ground revealing that everything inside the pack is all knives, “I’ve kept count and it’s like the knives are breeding inside this backpack.”

“Can we all agree that as long as we are in the presence of the king of the Western Mountain Hall that I can chain up Chip until he gives up every last knife he has?” I say not even waiting for a response as I sling a spell from one of my scars that had opened and filled itself with essence filled blood to chain the wrists of the priest together to hopefully keep him from trying and failing to kill again.

“I’m surprised you haven’t done that sooner,” says Prorem grinning as he notices Choyera is starting to come to.

“What an honor to meet the Cardinal Chiphuzitso the War Forged Saint face to face,” growls Mlinzi as he walks around the now chained up Chip, “so many of your and my men didn’t have to die, but your zealous fanaticism to purge these mountains sent wave after wave of boys and men to early graves. Every time we sent emissaries with generous offers of peace in times when we were pressing the advantage you’d spit in our faces by sending back decapitated heads.”

“You know this man?” I ask Mlinzi who glowers over the priest.

“He calls Upendo a demon lord, and my people call this cardinal the same,” responds Mlinzi running a clawed finger down the stern and glaring face of the priest, “I was wondering where this man disappeared off to when my spies told me he left on a journey with the wrongfully accused princess about half a year ago. What turn of fate that I’d find him right here.”

Khub, Prorem, and I all start when we hear confirmation of Choyera’s tall tales, and we all look at the waking girl in Prorem’s lap. Choyera looks at Prorem with a smile and says, “I had the worst nightmare, I saw Mlinzi the Claw of Wrath and The Demon Lord Upendo.”

“Who’s gonna tell her,” says Khub looking at Upendo and Mlinzi, apparently having gained more confidence in the presence of two teratolion that have reputations that precede them.

“Tell me what?” asks Choyera as she turns her head to look to where Khub is staring and once again loses consciousness.

Upendo waves his manicured hand again to invite my travel weary band inside the embassy house, “come, come, friends of my brother, rest your weary bones, eat and drink your fill, and Mlinzi do treat our honored guests from the Church the One-Eyed Prophet and Wakuda with the highest respect.”

Mlinzi casts an uncertain and disapproving glance to his king and brother and Upendo in response to Mlinzi’s doubt says, “today’s enemies could be tomorrow’s friends.”

“Well, I don’t have to be invited twice to have a good time,” says Prorem gently picking up Choyera to start singing to himself as he walks through the door into the warm comforts of the embassy house, “where’s the booze! Where’s the booze! Time for drinking! Where’s the booze!”

Upendo’s words oddly eat at me, as visions of my willful embodying of Dargot’s fury freezes me in place. I watch as Khub hesitantly follows Prorem, and Mlinzi in a moment of internal debate decides to not pull Chip the priest by the chain that binds his hands into the embassy house and instead places his large hand on Chip’s back purposefully digging his claws into Chip’s spine as he begrudgingly yet gently pushes Chip into the embassy house. I want to enter the embassy house, but I don’t feel worthy. I was welcomed warmly, but I don’t deserve it. I was praised by Mahana, but I did nothing to be praised for. Yesterday’s enemies now lie dead in a pit and will never be tomorrow’s friends.

Upendo noticing my lack of movement from where I stood walks up to me and attempts to place a hand upon me. I jerk away from him and say, “don’t touch me! I deserve an explanation for all that I’ve accomplished not for the glirdon, but for you!”

Upendo nods his head and then starts walking toward where Mlinzi had taken me to watch the welcoming ceremony the first night I spent upon Claw Wing Peak, “Ashe is with a glirdon named Ajnani on the summit, go to her and soon I hope to obtain the right to at least earn the privilege of you considering the thought of forgiving me.”

“Why didn’t you trust me? Why didn’t you let me in on your plans?” I call after Upendo to watch him halt in place look back at me and sigh.

“The scope of our original plans is too small. In hiking up to Claw Wing Peak a spark illuminated my mind and I decided once again to take a chance. Thus, I improvised and tried to create opportunities as they appeared. I had no plan, just a dream,” says Upendo looking up into the sky, “when I look upon you, I see your father and wish to rewrite history, but I can only turn the page.”

Upendo nods his head as if satisfied with what he had said and continues to walk away from me. Though Upendo is content with his cryptic response, I’m not and I find myself walking in the opposite direction to Upendo and directly up the mountain. I need to make sure Ashe is alright.

Now that I am unbound by the weights and chains that are the humans that I had to travel with for the last few days, I sprint up the mountain at superhuman speed. When I reach the summit and see the stone towers of the village I frantically look around searching for Ashe. When I find her, I feel disappointed and a bit angry with myself for worrying so much. I see Ashe sitting in a circle of glirdon woman. Ashe leans up against a glirdon woman sporting red, orange, and yellow colored feathers. The feathers on the fiery feathered glirdon’s head were plucked in a way to leave half of her head bald, and she also appears to be one of the glirdon that had her fins mutilated as they aren’t present on her arms, legs, face, and given that she doesn’t have a tail they aren’t present there either. Seeing this peaceful scene after Ashe was threatened by Mahana, and being introduced to the glirdon’s military might, is a contrast that makes me feel a bit antsy.

Ashe sees me, waves to me excitedly and then tugs on the rather large and muscular arm of the woman she was leaning on. She pulls the glirdon woman beside her as she giddily approaches me and says, “These last few days have been the best days of my life.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” I say as the last few days have only added to the count of the worst days of my life, “and who might this be?”

“I Ajnani,” says the fiery feathered glirdon in the Tackian dialect. Now that I know the trick to understand the dialect, the meaning behind her words is somewhat broken to my ears as they adjust to what I still perceive as a string of vulgarity, but at least I can make sense of what she is saying, “godling good meet you.”

“She’s been teaching me how to talk like humans outside of the valley, and a bit of the glirdon tongue,” Ashe says winking at me which tells me that Mahana may have downplayed what exactly Ashe has been getting up to here in the Glirdon village, “I’ll have to tell you more later, have a bit of camp fire brother to brother talk if you know what I mean.”

“I can’t believe I was actually worried about you,” I say shaking my head letting loose a long irritated but relieved sigh seeing that Mahana wasn’t lying to me as true to her words Ashe is safe, sound, and has somehow found herself a girlfriend. Weird how her dreams came true when she escaped Unadeam, but my nightmares have only just continued.

“Ajnani… I hope you… treat sister well,” I say trying my best to figure out how to say what I want in Tackian, but the words conjure the shadow of my father’s disapproving eyes which makes it hard to fully articulate what I want to say.

“I treat good,” says Ajnani with a devious smile crossing her lips, “I treat verry good.”

Ajnani’s takes her hand, smacks, and then grabs Ashe’s rear. Ashe blushes and bites her lip. Ashe may not be my actual sister, but seeing her handled like that, makes me feel a little protective as if I am her real brother. A scar on my arm responds to my emotions as it opens and essence filled blood bubbles menacingly as I glare at Ajnani. Ajnani chuckles to herself seeing me threaten her, lets go of Ashe, and raises a hand in an apologetic gesture.

“You a good brother,” says Ajnani still laughing to herself. Ajnani then sniffs the air and then turns her attention to Ashe, “come my tiny chickadee, food close ready. Brother, food, you want?”

“I’m fine” I say raising a hand to enhance my words just in case I’m not speaking Tackian correctly. Ajnani nods, bends down to grab Ashe’s hand and begins to walk away, only for her to stop, drop Ashe’s hand, and rush back to me.

Ajnani bends down, points toward a hut by the longhouse of the village, and whispers in my ear, “Lekhaka want you. Hut that way. Take fun.”

Just as quickly as she rushed to me, Ajnani runs back to Ashe, and they continue toward… I look up into the sky and see the sun is about at its peak, so lunch. They continue toward lunch together. Life truly does continue forward no matter what. Horrors beyond imagination can occur only a short distance away, and people are still going to go about their lives only caring about what is directly around them.

I look over to the circle of glirdon women that Ajnani and Ashe had left to greet me and see that all the glirdon women are all staring at me. Some of them preen themselves and wave to me by oscillating their fingers in a flirtatious way, others fold their fins down in size and bow to me from a distance. There has definitely been a shift in attitude toward me since I’ve been here last.

I hear a voice that I recognize and see Mahana walking toward the circle of the glirdon women. She holds a bag in her hands and appears to be asking them a question. I’m unsure of myself being inside the glirdon village, well being in any village really, so I walk up to the circle of glirdon women and say, “Mahana, I’m back from Shoron Gaol, and I believe Lekhaka is looking for me. I think I know where she lives, but could I ask you to help me find her.”

“Your back?” says Mahana looking at her compatriots who chitter amongst themselves in the glirdon private tongue, “which explains why this lot are more restless than usual.”

Mahana whistles in the glirdon public tongue and the group disperses as some climb up towers that they jump off of to fly off into the sky, and others go off doing whatever errands and jobs they were supposed to be achieving. Mahana then turns her attention to me, “I’ll show you to Lekhaka’s hut, as I need to go that way myself. A newcomer that you rescued from Shoron Gaol named Nayah has been found to have signs of the disease known as Whore’s Madness, and I’ve picked up some medicine from Upendo and Mlinzi to help treat her. Teratolion medicine is the only cure that exists for the disease, which is miraculous considering Whore’s Madness was a death sentence before we discovered it could be treated with the fungal medicines of the teratolion.”

“Wait, does that mean,” I cast my eyes into the realm of essence and check the contents of the bag and inside of the bag I hear the essence of a mold that whispers to me to confirm my suspicions.

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“Remember when I told you that the teratolion market had fungal medicine,” says Cran in my hand, which breaks my concentration on listening to the mold’s essential whispers.

“I do, but I never connected it with an ancient medicine that my grandfather taught me about,” I say fascinated with the pouch in Mahana’s hands, “Penicillin.”

“Are you two alright?” asks Mahana as she pulls the pouch to her side to hide it from my obsessive gaze, “the medicine may be great and all, but it’s just a bunch of powdered up mold.”

“Is that mold cultivated by more than just the teratolion?” I ask wondering if this miracle medicine was widespread or just a teratolion invention.

Mahana shakes her head and says, “teratolion fungal farmers and doctors are the only ones who know how to cultivate and isolate healer’s fuzz. It’s rare to see this medicine outside of the Western Mountain Halls, as it is there where it was born and there where it is protected.”

“Can I give a little to Cran? I just want a pinch of the stuff,” I ask, and Mahana looks at me skeptically and then to the bag in her hands. The way she clutches the bag in her hands and deliberates within herself to even give me even a pinch of the powder inside demonstrates how valuable the healing powder is to her.

She opens the bag takes a pinch of powder herself and says, “give me your hand. Who am I to deny a request from the hero of the glirdon.”

I cup my hand and accept the precious gift and then raise my hand to Cran who lowers a branch and leaf to pick up the powder from my hand. When the powder touches his extended leaf, the leaf’s smooth surface becomes a fuzzy puff ball that is then absorbed into the wood of Cran’s central shaft. We just obtained something precious that reawakens the sleeping healer within me.

“Well, now that you’ve got your mold, can we get moving,” says Mahana retying the bag shut as to not even let the breeze take any of the precious contents within. I nod and follow behind her as we begin to walk through the glirdon village.

“Hey Skath,” says Mahana as we walk.

“What is it?” I ask as I look around to more fully take in the rugged and pragmatic architecture of the glirdon village now that I can walk around without fearing for the lives of my friends.

Mahana looks a bit guilty and looks toward the ground away from me before she speaks, “please don’t take this the wrong way.”

“Depends on what you tell me,” I say looking at a leather streamer that appears to be decorated with carved white stones. The longer I look at the white stone I realize that the stones aren’t stones but carved large eggshells.

“I’m worried for your sister,” says Mahana clutching the sack of precious mold tighter to herself, “and I’m worried for Ajnani.”

That combination of words ends my visual exploration of the village and catches my full attention as I look to Mahana for further explanation. Mahana bounces her head side to side and says, “this worry may be nothing but I’ve listened to many a confession from those I rescue, and there are scars that cut deep and leave the oddest of lingering wounds. I worry that Ajnani’s affection for Ashe may not be the purest of loves, as she might be fetishizing the reclamation of power that was stolen from her. I also worry that Ashe may have too willingly given up her heart, because it was long denied. Though, they may make each other happy now, I’m unsure if the future will continue to bring bliss or…”

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask as we now stand still, the feeling of joy for my sister replaced with growing sinister anxiety.

“Shoron Gaol is why,” says Mahana with concern radiating from her eyes.

I turn my gaze away and grunt in discomfort at what Mahana just insinuated. Mahana adding to the wound she just opened in my mind says, “you razed an ancient impenetrable fortress in a day out of love and fear for your sister. I worry that if one of our own hurts her heart, Claw Wing Peak will be next. You owe us nothing, whereas we owe you everything which puts my people in a terrifying position when it comes to our continued relationship with you a godling who we should concede and just call our god.”

“You’ve clearly thought about this a lot,” I say still refusing to look at Mahana.

“I’ve had five days to process your victory, and what it means for my people,” responds Mahana, “My people rarely go beyond their villages and hunting and gathering grounds, I on the other hand wander far beyond these mountains and am obliged to face what it means to be a glirdon not just in Angtos’s cradle but what it means to be a glirdon of the entire world of Nuren. Before, my people stood as equals to all the dangers out in the world, but now I feel like I’ve lived my entire life as a mouse and just met a cat for the first time.”

“I’m not a god, nor am I the supposed natural predator of humans and glirdon if that’s what you are implying,” I say turning to face Mahana who takes a step away from me.

“Who is to say you aren’t,” says Mahana staring at one of my scarred arms, “long ago our creator waged war on his fellow gods and it was only the sheer number of mice that lead to a victory over the mountain lions. Before that war, humans were slaves to the gods and their very spirits were sacrificial food for the gods. So, tell me that I am not prey when you share blood with gods that fed upon those I stand equal with? Tell me why I shouldn’t fear you, and tread lightly around you considering your emotions if manipulated just enough could lead to you destroying me, like you did the slavers? You are our hero today, but what of tomorrow?”

I don’t know how to respond, as I recall that I did tell Cran that I’d burn the skies to save Ashe. Mahana’s fears are legitimate as I am an incredibly dangerous liability to Mahana’s people. With the right leverage, would my heart and precious relationships lead me to destroy the truly undeserving? Any evil can be justified if given a reason, and I know that I’ve been searching for reasons of late as I add to my tally of essential evils for the world I wish to preserve all for them.

“I can’t give you a reason to not fear me, in fact that’s probably wise,” I say answering truthfully instead of assuring Mahana that I’ll always be the hero of the glirdon people, but I’m in competition with a goddess over the fate of this world and I might be forced to be a monster to the glirdon if it means that I achieve the preservation of all the races of man and in turn protect those I hold precious. I’ve already been forced to become a monster to humans by violently destroying the slave trade in Vilendura’s Spine, so I cannot in good conscience promise to always be a hero to the glirdon.

Mahana flings her shoulders back in surprise that I just accepted her accusations levied against me and says, “really? You aren’t going to defend yourself, or make sweeping promises about never betraying me or my people?”

“No, because I’m an honest monster that knows what he is and what he is capable of. You are right in all that you said about me, why deny it?” I say extending my arms out to have her gaze upon all of me and Cran, “Why shouldn’t you fear me, when I also fear me. Though, this I promise, in the realms of love, if Ashe does end up having her heart crushed then I’ll soothe her as a brother soothes a sister and not as a wrathful god answers the prayers of his favored priestess. I may share the blood of gods, but I am still human.”

Mahana removes her gaudy fan from her feathered poncho, opens it, and hides her face. The facial fins upon her face flex up and down as she weighs my answer. Mahana then closes her fan and points it at me and says, “I don’t like your answer, but I’ll have to accept it. I feel like I’m trapped in the palm of your hand and it’s like I’m a slave again.”

I extend my hand out to her and say, “then be my friend if that’ll make you feel better.”

Mahana stares at my hand then to me and cautiously grabs my hand, “I’m not sure I like this fully either.”

“But is it better?” I ask shaking her hand to confirm our bond.

Mahana shrugs, “a bit. The friend of a god, what an odd thought.”

“So should we continue to Lekhaka’s house,” I say letting go of Mahana’s hand.

Mahana chuckles and points to a stone house with a pointy roof made of animal hides right next to us and says, “we are already here.”

“Are there any customs I should be aware of, like knocking for example?” I ask taking a few nervous steps toward Lekhaka’s hut.

Mahana shakes her head and swirls her closed fan in the air and says, “it sounds like she is expecting you, so just enter. There is a small welcoming area in our homes where she’ll either turn you away or grant you further permission to fully come into her home so if she wants to turn you away, she’ll do it there.”

“Could I ask one more thing?” I ask to see Mahana sigh and nod as she looks to the longhouse of the village and the bag of medicine in her arms, “Lekhaka doesn’t speak Othenese very well, so could you help me by translating for me and her?”

“Fine,” relents Mahana shaking her head, “it’s not like Nayah is going to die right this second. Whore’s Madness is a dreadfully slow disease that takes years to gestate into its final dreadful form. Nayah is only in the first phases of the disease which are fairly unpleasant and painful but not life threatening. So, I’ll tag along.”

“Thank you,” I say as I walk up to a curtain made of leather strips decorated in eggshells, bone beads, and feathers that acts as the door to Lekhaka’s home. Following Mahana’s guidance I cast aside the curtain and poke my head into Lekhaka’s house, to immediately pull my head back out of Lekhaka’s home with my face now blazingly hot.

My eyes are wide at what I just saw, and I ask Mahana, “is it a common pastime for glirdon women to pose naked behind bowls of food.”

“Spirits bless her,” mutters Mahana rubbing her forehead with her fan, “Let me go and talk some sense into her. It appears that she got some bad information on how to win the affections of human men.”

Mahana walks through the leather curtain and I think I realize what Lekhaka was trying to say now at Shoron Gaol. Me you, you me, must have meant... Otatadyi… and apparently her nude posing behind bowls of food was tainted information from someone in this village about attracting human men, which given that this village is a place where emancipated slaves who served humans live must mean that… I don’t want to think anymore. I look at Cran and wish to bash the thoughts and images out of my head, but he resists me and prevents me from knocking the bad thoughts out.

Mahana sticks her head back out of Lekhaka’s home and says, “Lover girl is clothed now, so come on in, we need to clear some things up.”

I raise my hand and try to put words together to get out of going into that house, but Mahana grabs my wrist and pulls me in while muttering, “you bravely went to destroy an ancient citadel filled with armed slavers without a second thought, but seeing a woman naked makes you shrink? Get in here!”

To my immense relief, Lekhaka is now sitting clothed at the table she once posed seductively upon. I struggle to look at Lekhaka after seeing her in her granted very attractive glory just seconds ago, so my eyes now wander her hut to distract my mind from recently made memories. Lekhaka’s hut is filled with sheets upon sheets of white feathers bound together with hemp string, and several pots filled with colorful liquids, glues, and brushes. On a small desk in the corner of the room is a sheet of white feathers that has been painted with several colorful pictographic symbols that sit within bracket like markings that look like feathers. Looking at the symbols I come to the conclusion that this must be the writing of the glirdon, and the feather looking bracket symbols that enclose the other pictographic symbols must be similar to the word separation markings that are used in celandilic script. Also, instead of the symbols being written left to right like in celandilic script, the writing of the glirdon is similar to the teratolion written tongue as it appears to be written top to bottom.

Lekhaka smiles at my interest in her hobby or livelihood, as I’m not sure if this is her job or how she entertains herself. Though, I believe Pramuk called Lekhaka a book binder, so I’m leaning toward the former rather than the latter. Lekhaka reaches under the table and places a set of weights and a metal scale on the counter and beckons me over to sit at the table. Mahana pushes me forward, and I take a seat at the table across from Lekhaka, whereas Mahana stands to the side of both Lekhaka and I as if placing herself physically in an intermediary position.

Lekhaka opens her mouth, but then frowns with a defeated expression upon her face before turning to Mahana and begins to speak in the private tongue of the glirdon. The private tongue of the glirdon sounds a lot like the teratolion tongue but instead of growls and barks, they make sounds more akin to birds and it surprisingly has a more melodic musical quality to it than the more dissonant and punchy musical nature of the teratolion language.

Lekhaka speaks for some time and then looking satisfied nods to Mahana who then speaks for Lekhaka, “Firstly, Lekhaka wishes to sincerely apologize for her obscene behavior, and I wish to also intervene and explain a bit myself. Lekhaka is our village’s scribe and has the unfortunate responsibility to record the general and personal histories of the village. Due to our village’s composition mostly containing emancipated slaves, Lekhaka is perpetually exposed to the worst that humanity has to offer and might have some skewed ideas about humans. She herself was captured by slavers, and taken to Shoron Gaol, but I was luckily able to save her after she was sold and placed in a caravan heading toward southern Tackenae before she could truly experience the malice of humanity. Thus, Lekhaka has a taste of humanity, but not necessarily the truth of it, which leads to misunderstandings like what we just collectively experienced.”

I don’t know how to respond. I’m supposed to be the supposed champion of the races of man, but this interaction I’ve had with Lekhaka reveals an insidiousness that makes me reconsider Aurhea’s opinions. Mahana seeing my discomfort changes her tone and looks to me directly and says, “Skath, I do not wish to impart upon you that all of Tackenae is filled with monsters that prey upon just the glirdon. The Leathfola enslave all that comes into their power, and it is in their massive wealth that they not only take glirdon and teratolion as slaves but humans as well. It is in their monstrous appetites that they create the markets by which new monsters can be born. It is in opportunity and desperation that perpetuates the devouring of lives by a minority that just so happens to be extremely powerful. Humans aren’t inherently evil most are driven to it, but the few that are genuinely evil and choose it not because of desperation, well they make malevolent spirits look good in comparison.”

“I’m not sure if that makes me feel better,” I say clasping my knees with my hands, “it sounds like I merely crippled an industry that will find a way to perpetuate itself due to powerful investors ensuring that it will survive. Not to mention, that humans in Tackenae sound to be complacent not only in the suffering of the glirdon but their own. It’s just hard for me to look at Tackenae without it being tainted, so I guess Lekhaka and I both share in our lack of understanding.”

Mahana nods her head and says, “consider how poignant a solitary tree in a meadow looks in comparison to the thousands of blades of grass, the hundreds of flowers, and the scattered berry bushes that share the same space with the dominating presence of the tree. That is the slavers and Leathfola in comparison to the rest of Tackenae. I have friends amidst humanity that help me in my quest to save my kind, so that should tell you more about the virtue of Tackenae than its vice. Don’t let a minority blind you to the benevolence of the majority. Anyway, I should get back to what Lekhaka wished for me to say.”

We both look at Lekhaka who looks at Mahana and I with concerned eyes as she is desperately trying to understand what we are talking about and in her impatience with Mahana she points to the scale and says, “go bye Shoron Gaol… now… yes yes… now you me, me you, yes?”

“Lekhaka made a promise to the whispers of our ancestors that she would give herself to the person that would rescue her from her nightmares of Shoron Gaol,” explains Mahana and I watch as Lekhaka places a large weight on the side of the scale that is closest to me and then a tiny weight on the side of the scale closest to her, “generally, in glirdon society our men are shared. Glirdon unlike humans lay eggs, and we can choose the sex of our offspring based on the heat we incubate our eggs. Glirdon women are strong and powerful, whereas our men are puny and really only good for reproduction, village work, egg tending, and child rearing. Therefore, it is common for glirdon to moderate the population of our men so that we can maintain a larger population of warriors and hunters to protect ourselves against the onslaught of slavers and to provide the village with food. Due to our skewed populations, most of our women form what humans could consider two kinds of marriages: marriages for reproduction and political and social status, and marriages of love and devotion.”

“Is Pramuk the husband of both Hawa and Shwala then? He was presented by both of them as their voice when Upendo and Mlinzi presented me to the village, and was scolded by both of them simultaneously as well when he stepped out of line,” I ask trying to get an example of the shared nature of glirdon marriage from my experiences to better incorporate the information Mahana is giving me into my mind.

“Yes, Pramuk is the shared mate of both Hawa and Shwala, and both of these women could take another male mate if they so wish,” explains Mahana flicking open her fan to cool herself as she continues her lesson in glirdon marriage and culture, “I wish to impress upon you, that there are privileges and status that are associated with our reproductive marriages. For instance, members of our high court like Hawa, Shwala, and myself can take up to two male mates to assert our status as members of the high court. One male is sufficient for bringing forth the next generation, so having two mates is a representation of our political power and influence. Members of our highest court can take three mates, and the Highest Matron Visala has four mates to represent her position in our culture. However, the scale sways both ways as if a glirdon woman spurns a reproductive marriage and chooses to only engage in marriages of love and devotion she is willfully choosing to deny herself of privileges and status associated with a reproductive marriage and takes upon herself the derogatory moniker of a feather licker.”

“I don’t get how social status alone can influence these scales in front of me to be so out of balance,” I say interrupting Mahana as I believe I have some idea as to what Lekhaka desires and what the weights currently on the scale represent, “I get that Lekhaka wishes to marry me to honor her vow to her ancestors, but it seems like there is more to consider here. I can only assume that the scales are a representation of debts and offerings of restitution, but I think Lekhaka has undervalued herself if I am correct in assuming that the small weight on Lekhaka’s side of the scale represents her offering herself to be my wife as restitution for destroying Shoron Gaol. I don’t think that her rising in social status would devalue her that much to make her represented by the smallest weight of the set we are using.”

I look again at the scale and compare the large weight on my side compared to the tiny weight on Lekhaka’s side. Does she not value herself, or does she believe that in comparison to Shoron Gaol that her offering herself to me isn’t even close to being comparable and only out of tradition placed any weight on her side of the scale to represent her offering. I stare at Lekhaka with pitying eyes as I feel bad that I’ve inadvertently created a situation where she feels obligated to estimate herself as a pitifully small recompense for a deed I see as unworthy of praise or reward.

“The scales are a physical representation of our most sacred of laws,” explains nodding to me to confirm that I assume correctly. Mahana then points to the scales in front of Lekhaka and I, “this is the law of reciprocity, ‘what is given is to be received, what is done to another, is to be done to the perpetrator in similar kind.’ If I were to pluck out your eye and you invoke this law, then you are entitled to pluck out my eye or obtain something from me of equal value as determined by a judge of the high court.”

“So, Lekhaka invoked the law of reciprocity because what has been done is perceived to be vastly disproportionate to what has been offered to pay the difference she herself promised to pay,” I say staring at the scale once more and then to Lekhaka whose eyes bounce between the scale and me.

“Yes, and Lekhaka is obligated to make the balance even more against herself as she will be gaining more from a marriage with you than you realize; Thus, making the weight she chose for herself the smallest she could have chosen to represent her offering to honor the oath she made and simultaneously repay your actions for her and her alone,” explains Mahana picking up the tiny weight on Lekhaka’s side of the scales, “you see, marriage with a male is more than a status symbol of the courts of our meritocracy, it also awards privileges. All our woman start off as members of our daughter court which rewards them one vote in the deciding of laws and judgements. When a woman marries a male and successfully incubates an egg to its hatching, she then progresses to the mother court giving her two votes in the deciding of laws and judgements. To become a member of the high court, you must prove yourself to the members already within it or be an elder. Generally, a woman must first be a member of the mother court to rise to the high court but in special circumstances like with myself, a woman unmarried to a male can become a member of the high court and garner the title of matron. Matrons of the high court have three votes, and the high court elects a leader called a high matron who has four votes and that is Hawa for Claw Wing Peak. The high matrons of each village compose the highest court of the glirdon collective and they elect the highest matron from their ranks and she has five votes. Feather licking unions will never rise above the daughter court unless a meritorious act is achieved by a feather licker allowing a glirdon of said union to rise to the high court. Our men both like and unlike the feather lickers will only ever have one vote but men cannot and will never rise beyond their current station even if a man were to commit an act of immense valor and/or merit.”

“If I marry Lekhaka, she’ll gain the ability to rise in both social and political status, thus devaluing her offering of herself to me as she will gain from a marriage with me,” I say to see if I understand the situation at hand, “I’m assuming she made that promise to her ancestors thinking that a glirdon woman was going to be the destroyer of Shoron Gaol, making the offering of herself a tad more of value.”

“You are correct in your assumption as our marriages between women aren’t always on equal terms or for pure love,” says Mahana placing the weight that she picked up off of the scale and played with in her hands back onto the scale where it was when Lekhaka placed it there originally, “monogamy is only for the most loyal of feather lickers or doting of mating marriages, as polygamy is more the normal practice for glirdon relationships. Marriage is more of an oath of devotion for the glirdon, and it can have many different manifestations from a bond of equals to a servant and master relationship, a marriage of servile devotion. Lekhaka was hoping for the situation where she could pledge her devotion and submit herself to the destroyer of Shoron Gaol as more of a servant than a wife as method of making the offering more evenly reciprocal, but in the situation where you are a man that isn’t as possible and therefore she invokes the scales to see if there is anything more that is needed to ensure that her ancestors don’t scorn her when her voice joins the winds. She worries that if she doesn’t fully satisfy reciprocity that she’ll insult her ancestors and be damned to the eternal silence of the forgotten.”

I sit staring at the scales, not saying a word. I sift through each of the words I was told, and stare at the nervously blushing Lekhaka as I deliberate within myself. She is beautiful and would make any man feel lucky to have her as his wife. However, though there is some sensual attraction within me for Lekhaka, my heart still is processing its mixed feelings for the woman that walked out of my life. I also can’t risk prolonging the celandil with my future children, as the reign of gods must end. I look at Mahana and know that her fear needs to end with me.

I remove the weight from my side of the scale and the scale disbalances toward Lekhaka. I hold the weight in my hand, heft it a few times, and then place it to the side of the scale saying, “ask her if the nightmares have stopped? Ask her that within the time that I’ve destroyed Shoron Gaol and traveled back here to the village if she’s had a nightmare of Shoron Gaol.”

Mahana flares her facial fins and looks at me confused but complies and asks Lekhaka my question. Lekhaka just as confused as Mahana responds to Mahana and Mahana says, “the nightmares she has of Shoron Gaol haven’t stopped since its destruction.”

“I knew they wouldn’t,” I whisper as I stare into the distressed visage of Lekhaka, “I killed the man that tortured the first woman I loved, the same man that killed my father and mother, and who even in death lead more of his people to early graves. He may be dead and gone by my own two hands, but I still see him in my mind’s eye and within places you’d assume would be protected from ghosts by peaceful oblivion or the absurdity of dreams. I haven’t saved her from the nightmares of Shoron Gaol, and thus nothing is owed as the conditions of Lekhaka’s oath have yet to be fulfilled. I have not rescued her from the nightmares, so nothing is owed and thus nothing has to be given.”

I remove the weight on Lekhaka’s side of the scale and the scale now lies in balance. Mahana translates what I said to Lekhaka and Lekhaka’s distress morphs into a look of understanding concern as we both have demons that torment us. Lekhaka places two equal weights on the scale and speaks to Mahana who translates for her, “she says she is willing to trade her nightmares for yours.”

I remove the weights from the scale again and say with Mahana translating for me, “my heart is not ready to let another in. I appreciate your gesture, but you do not owe me anything…”

I hesitate, as I realize that this exchange won’t end unless something of equal value is traded to satisfy Lekhaka’s insistence. I place the weights on the scales again and say, “I will offer you my friendship, for yours.”

Lekhaka looks a little disappointed at my last offer, but then she smiles and speaks for herself, “yes, yes. Food?”

“I’d like that,” I say as Lekhaka hands me a bowl filled with cooked meat and eggs accompanied by berries.