The sun was rising as Hrake crested the final foothill and caught sight of the metal box that had descended from the skies. He cautiously moved forward, watching the strange creatures that unloaded crates from the box. They were of various sizes and builds, but none were anything he recognized. Two had smooth, tawny or brown hides with tufts of fur on top of their heads, one looked more like a lizard of some kind, with rough, scaly skin similar to his own, and a fourth was wearing armor over his whole body, masking his features. They seemed to be talking and laughing, but Hrake could only make out sweet, sing-songy voices from this distance.

A fifth creature emerged from the box. He was built like the pink creatures, but was taller and broader. He wore metal armor, but it didn’t cover him like the other one’s did. And his skin was… no, it wasn’t possible. Hrake blinked to clear the mirage, but there he stood: a glowing, golden god. They did answer, after all.

***

Vanbrook was delighted to be clayside on a new planet once again. To the north, there was nothing but prairie as far as the eye could see; to the south, a line of volcanic mountains. Far overhead, Mairen was seeing to the satellite network that would help them map the planet, but Talon Squad had the more adventurous role of scoping out the planet in person.

"Van," called Reclan, shaking Vanbrook from his daydreaming. "Gimme a hand with the command tent, would'ya?"

He walked over to help set up the frame of what would serve as their main hub of activity for the time they spent on the planet.

Then the unexpected happened. A creature strode out of the foothills, walking somberly as it approached. It was something akin to a humanoid turtle, a little over six feet tall with bluish-green skin and clad in an orange leather harness and loincloth. It carried a bronze hammer with a spearhead on it, but it was using the weapon as a walking stick, not brandishing it at the Squad.

"Hey, we got a local," called Vanbrook. He exchanged glances with Raivyn, both nervously eyeing the newcomer.

No one's hands were far from their weapons.

It approached D'Jarric, who regarded the stranger with an inscrutable expression. The creature went to one knee, bowing his head reverently. The Solaran quickly knelt down as well, taking his would-be worshipper by the forearm and guiding him to his feet.

"I am no god," said D'Jarric in a tongue the others didn't recognize. It was a sweet, smooth sound; a tone more musical than guttural. The turtle's eyes went wide and he tried to bow again, but D'Jarric stopped him, holding his palm out before him in what he hoped would be interpreted as "stop." Evidently the creature did not understand D’Jarrics native tongue any more than the rest of Talon Squad.

"Raivyn?" asked D'Jarric, indicating the turtle.

"I'll try," nodded Raivyn. D'Jarric stepped back and Raivyn sat down in front of the stranger, legs crossed. The stranger joined her on the ground, resting his hammer across his lap and regarding her with a thoughtful, confused expression. Raivyn tapped the side of her head, then pointed to the stranger's. Then she closed her eyes and reached out with her mind.

At first there was a surprisingly strong reactive resistance, but then the stranger, sensing her intentions, let his guard down. She opened her eyes and stared into his, hoping to get from body language what she couldn't get psychically.

Mental communication was taxing but doable for most trained psychics, but language barriers still posed an issue. The best she could do was send impressions.

Travelers, she tried to impress the concepts on his mind, the unformed concept rather than the word. Explorers.

Gods? came the reply, in the form of a question.

No. No was one of the easier concepts to send. Travelers.

He pointed to the stars fading into the morning light. Travelers? he asked.

Yes, she replied.

The conversation, if it could be called that, stalled there. Raivyn got a jumble of impressions, mostly religious and spiritual in nature and something about harvests, but nothing concrete. She nodded and ended the connection.

"He seems to get that we're denying any kind of divinity, and that we came here from the aether. Or heaven, or however he thinks about it," said Raivyn, cocking her head in thought. "My impression of him doesn't go much further than what you can see on the surface. He's a warrior, possibly on some kind of religious pilgrimage, maybe related to a bad crop?"

"Well, it's a baseline," said Vanbrook, "and he hasn't tried to whack us with that hammer, so I'd call that a win."

"I'll contact Jasken," said Raivyn. "This obviously changes our plans."

D'Jarric had a worried look on his face.

"What's up, DJ?" asked Reclan.

D'Jarric shrugged. "Some of my people have posed as gods over the millenia. It's a serious transgression among those of us who still serve the Progenitor. I wonder if that has happened on this planet before."

"You think you might not be the only Solaran in town?" asked Vanbrook, taking an interest in the conversation. D'Jarric shook his head.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Most likely any Solaran claiming godhood was banished to their star after the Solaran Civil War, but the effects of these blasphemers can be long lived."

Vanbrook nodded. "Well," he said, walking to the shuttle, "let's get this guy his party favors."

He retrieved a box that had gift items from the various species of the Griffon Republic. The contents included a Talpidarian logic puzzle made up of metal rings and boxes, a Kiraknan harp made of catgut strings and a snail shell, an Aeratan tea kettle with two tea cups, and a Krauqian necklace made of semi-precious stones found only on Krauqia, among other novelties. The idea was to give new-found sapients a gift from each of the cultures the Republic represented.

***

Hrake watched the second tufted warrior walk back towards his sky cart. He returned with a box, setting it down and opening it. He gestured to the contents, then to Hrake. Evidently they were gifts.

The golden man and the shaman woman had been insistent that they weren't gods, but who else lived in the skies and could visit at will? He hoped he could get them to come back to Gred to see Rhenka, the city's elder shaman.

Curiosity grabbed him when he saw a curling shell with strings stretched across the opening. Part of him felt that these gifts should be presented to the king, and part of him wanted to play the strange, small harp. The swordsman must have noticed. He picked up the shell, cradling it in one hand and plucking the strings with the other. He played a simple melody, then offered the shell to Hrake.

Hrake smiled, taking the shell. He plucked a few notes, pleased to find it had a similar setup to his own harp. After a few moments, he started playing the bittersweet melody of a ballad he'd written in his late father's honor. He became so engrossed in the song that he began singing, forgetting the situation he found himself in. His voice thundered, boomed, and hissed the tale of his father's heroic sacrifice in battle.

He fell back to reality when the song ended, looking up to see the strange travelers slapping their hands together rhythmically. Given their smiling faces, he took the gesture as a kind one. He stooped his head in humble gratitude and returned the shell to the box, closing the lid.

The shaman woman who had communed with him earlier held out a thin, smooth box with a glossy surface. She held it up and Hrake saw that it was a picture of some kind.

As he studied the image, he realized it was a map of the area. He excitedly pointed to the area off the edge of the map to the south. And said "Gred."

The shaman put her finger on the picture and slid it. To Hrake's astonishment, the picture slid as though her finger was dragging it, and Gred Valley appeared on the thin box. Studying the map, he pointed to the part of the valley where the city was located.

***

Raivyn nodded hopefully, marking the area the turtle had indicated on her tablet.

“That must be home,” she said to the others. “Jasken wants us to get in contact with the local government as soon as possible.”

She looked into the turtle’s eyes, tapped her head and pointed to his.

Travel together? she asked, pointing to the map of Gred then to the shuttle. The turtle’s eyes went wide. Safe, she assured him.

Yes, he replied, the apprehension melting from his face. She motioned for him to come aboard the shuttle.

***

Inside the sky cart, Hrake was amazed by the intricate designs and metalworking. It was like a small mansion inside. He was led through a large, open foyer filled with crates up a staircase to a second floor with a series of doors to the rear of the cart and an open, benched-lined room to the front.

He was examining a strange strap of durable textile that hung over a bench when he saw the swordsman sit down and pull a similar strap over his shoulder, binding himself to the seat it hung over. Catching Hrake’s eye, he motioned for him to do the same. Hrake obliged. The lizard and the armored warrior were in the front of the cart while the others all strapped themselves into the benches behind them.

The shaman pointed to her head and then his in the now familiar gesture.

Rough. Shake.

The cart shook violently and Hrake involuntarily grabbed the edge of the bench, his claws tearing the fabric of the bench’s cushions. He steadied himself and looked mournfully at the holes in the fabric, but when he looked up he saw the golden man smiling at him.

"D'Jarric," he said, lightly slapping his chest with his palm.

"Vanbrook," said the swordsman, repeating the motion.

"Raivyn," said the shaman.

"Reclan, Doc Manford," she said, indicating the lizard and armored creature in the front of the cart.

Hrake pointed to his head and then the shaman's. She nodded.

Name? he asked.

Yes, she replied, enthusiastically bobbing her head.

Hrake slapped his chest. "Hrake."

"Hirak," repeated the shaman. It was close enough, Hrake reasoned. Learning a new tongue took time.

"Jarric, Vahbruhk, Ravich, Reclah, Docmahferd." He said in turn, pointing to each traveler as he spoke their name to the best of his ability. They all nodded encouragingly.

D'Jarric spent the remainder of the flight showing Hrake different objects and naming them, and Hrake responded with their names in his own tongue. Raivyn tapped away furiously on the map box, which Hrake soon understood served many purposes, including record keeping. D'Jarric called it a tablet. Hrake was just beginning to wrap his mind around the pronunciation of the traveler's language when the sky cart, or shuttle, began to shudder again.

He looked out of the shuttle's window, shocked to see the hilly, verdant landscape of Gred Valley. They had made the journey, which had taken Hrake days on foot, and would have taken most of a day by chariot, in what felt like a matter of moments. They landed in a field outside of the town.

Hrake wondered what would be waiting for him when he exited the shuttle. His uncle had sent Gevrok to murder him in the wilderness, which meant that, though he wanted him dead, he would not order his execution publicly. That would mean bringing charges of some kind, and the elders would not take kindly to whatever false accusations the king brought to them. Complicating matters further, he had come back from his vision quest with the strangest omen of all; the gods themselves, flying in a giant metal bird.

***

Darvik settled down in the itchy canvas cot his mysterious hosts had given him. The cultists had left him in the same room he’d woken up in, but at least they’d untied him. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d gotten himself into, but he felt like life as a mercenary might suit him. Besides, if these people were going after the Blue Griffon Fleet, they were going to take him straight to Vanbrook.

He relaxed as much as he could, closing his eyes and trying to get some sleep. Sleep evaded him, however. This was his first quiet moment since… He pushed the thought out of his head. The still night seemed to go on forever. Darvik was considering getting up and trying the door. He wasn't sure if he was locked in or not, and if he could get out he could use a drink.

Just then he heard a noise. Someone was at the door. Out of instinct, Darvik lay unmoving, feigning sleep. Out of nearly-shut eyelids, he watched the Human he'd fought in the hilltop approach his cot, a knife raised above his head.