They found Yalmay asleep and covered in silk.
“It’s a cocoon,” the warbler explained, as if it needed explaining. When Kylara had pointed out as such, the man had simply sighed and mumbled something about caterpillars and how should he know what to assume and what not to assume they knew?
The cocoon was two and a half metres tall and clung to the cavern wall next to several others. There was a thin silk veil covering Yalmay’s face, which was just visible inside the cocoon. Strands of her hair were pressed against the side. Her breathing was slow and steady. She looked peaceful. Kylara wondered how she had been trapped. There weren’t any signs of a struggle. Had something put her in there? Kylara reached out a tentative hand to touch the silk, then thought better of it.
She turned to the warbler. “How do I cut her out?” she asked. She assumed she would be the one to do it, considering the whole currently-intangible-and-dying situation he had going on.
But to her surprise, the warbler strolled right over to Yalmay. He shimmered a bit–and this time Kylara noticed a painful wince as he did so–and ripped the silk away from the top of the cocoon, uncovering Yalmay’s face. The silk stuck to the palm of his hand and he flapped them around a bit, trying to get it off. Then he seemed to realise something and he shimmered again. The silk fell through his hand like it was never there.
Clever, Kylara thought.
Yalmay’s eyes fluttered open and she drew in a sharp, rasping breath. She blinked then broke into a fit of coughing.
“Breathe, just breathe,” the warbler soothed, he shimmered again and cupped her face in her hands. His eyes darted back and forth, examining the structure of the cocoon. “Sorry about this.”
Then he pulled off more silk, uncovering most of her head. Yalmay continued to cough. When the coughing switched to slightly gasping breaths, he stopped pulling the silk off and gently touched Yalmay’s face again. He circled his fingers over her cheeks and then pressed two fingers against her neck, taking her pulse. He stepped back. The shimmer returned.
“Will she be alright?” Kylara asked.
“She’s fine,” he said nonchalantly.
Kylara eyed her still-coughing sister with concern.
“She just needs to clear her lungs.” At Kylara’s doubtful expression, he added, “Don’t worry, she wasn’t poisoned. Certain of it.” He pointed to Yalmay, who was stumbling out of the cocoon, breathing heavily. As she pulled herself free, the rest of the cocoon's structure gave way. It was more delicate than Kylara had originally thought. Once Yalmay was completely clear of the thing, the whole thing collapsed inward on itself, crumpling into a heap on the ground.
Yalmay stood uneasily next to the pile of silk, catching her breath. She put a hand on her knee and another on the ground to steady herself.
The warbler squatted down next to her. His head cocked to the side as he watched her patiently but he did not touch her again. The gesture reminded Kylara of a father caring for a small child. The man watched Yalmay closely for a moment then shot back up to his feet. “Yep,” he confirmed, “she’s fine. Definitely not poisoned.”
Kylara rushed to her. “Are you alright?” she asked. She helped Yalmay to her feet.
Yalmay nodded, caught her breath, and then frowned. “I’m–” Another cough. Yalmay cleared her throat. “I’m fine,” she finished.
“Good,” Kylara said. “Can you stand?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think you can walk?”
“I’m fine,” Yalmay said, shoving her away a bit, “but–” she closed her eyes like she was trying to remember a painful memory, then opened them again–“what the fuck are you speaking?”
“You were trapped in a cocoon–” Kylara started.
Yalmay put her hand up to interrupt. “Yeah nah, I got that part. What are you speaking?”
The warbler’s expression fell. “You can’t understand us?” he asked.
She obviously can, Kylara thought.
“No, I can,” Yalmay confirmed a second later, “but at the same time it’s like, confusing. It’s weird. It’s like–” She wrinkled up her nose and made a face. “I dunno.”
“Like a mix of two completely different languages,” the man finished. He smiled widely, as if he was proud of his little creation. He had perfect teeth. Kylara wondered if there was magic somewhere that could get you perfect teeth. She then wondered if he could be convinced to take her there.
Yalmay put her fingers on her forehead and rubbed hard, as if she had a headache. “It’s confusing,” she said. “I don’t like it. And yet somehow I’m speaking it and–” she broke off again and winced, like she had a pain in her head. Kylara looked at the warbler with concern. He seemed unfazed. Just staring ahead.
Yalmay recovered and pointed back at the remains of the cocoon. “And what was that?” she asked.
“Good question!” the warbler said, reanimating. He grinned–it was a manic grin, and then ran about ten metres ahead, stopping in front of another cocoon. The light followed him. Kylara glanced at Yalmay and then followed him. She didn’t want to be left in the dark.
They found the warbler bending down, listening with his ear close to the pod. “Hmm,” he murmured, straightening back up. Stepping back, he shimmered again, reached for a handful of silk, and licked it. His eyes turned hard.
“What’s wrong?” Kylara asked.
The man ignored her. He was squinted into the darkness on the other side of the cave. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing we need to worry about anyhow.”
“I still don’t understand,” Yalmay said. “How can I understand you? You never explained.”
“He used the moment of translation to create a common tongue for us all to understand each other. It’s a made-up, in-between language,” Kylara shrugged. “Apparently it’s something worldhoppers can do.” Usually warblers spoke several languages, although when they didn’t they brought translators, also trained at the University. Although…
Kylara frowned. Now that she thought about it, that didn’t make much sense. Both Yalmay and herself spoke Common, the language of Warrung and the language of the University. Kylara didn’t think she had ever met a warbler who she couldn’t communicate with on some level.
“Where are you from?” she asked the man. “You’re not from the University, are you?”
The man, who had found another cocoon a few metres away and was in the midst of examining it, looked back at her, surprised. “No, I’m from the University,” he said. He cocked his head to the side like a bird. “What makes you think I’m not?”
“Your accent,” Yalmay said. She was grinning, probably because she had heard the word ‘university’ Kylara assumed. “That’s not Common. And sorry to ask again, but who are you? Where are we?”
Kylara let out a little sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging slightly. It wasn’t just her. It made her feel a bit better that Yalmay apparently remembered nothing as well. Gods, if Yalmay had remembered and she had not… that would’ve been a nightmare. She shuddered.
“He doesn’t remember his name,” Kylara pointed out.
Yalmay gave her a sceptical look. “And you believed him?” she asked suspiciously, crossing her arms. “Just like that?” She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you and what did you do with my sister? My sister never trusts anyone, not ever.”
Kylara frowned. That wasn’t true, was it? She trusted plenty of people. A flurry of panic. Had the warbler been right? Had he misplaced more than just her recent memories?
Yalmay stared at her for a second and then burst out laughing. “Gods, I’m just joking Kya. You look a bit different, but I know it’s you. No one else takes my jokes as seriously. Now come here.” She came in for a hug.
As they embraced, Yalmay whispered in her ear, “We’re in the Up Over, right?”
Kylara nodded.
“And that man is a warbler?”
“Use worldhopper, not warbler,” Kylara whispered back. “It’s the proper term.”
“Got it,” Yalmay said. She gave a little squee of delight as she pulled away. Then she cleared her throat seriously and looked at the warbler. She bowed. “Nice to formally meet you, er–”
The man sighed. “You can call me Tal. It’s not my name–hasn’t been for ten years now, but I cannot for the life of me remember my current one.”
Yalmay raised an eyebrow at that but thankfully didn’t comment. It seemed like a bit of a sensitive subject for the warbler.
The man they were now calling Tal pulled away from the cocoon he was currently examining–he had found another one–and looked Yalmay over. “How are you feeling?” he asked gently. “I never asked.”
“Confused,” she confessed. “Especially about how you are speaking. Like, I can understand you, but the words don’t make any sense at the same time. I don’t like it.”
Tal nodded his head seriously, thinking. “It’s probably harder for you. Kylara here barely notices.” He pointed his thumb at her.
“I what?” Kylara said, frowning.
Tal’s eyebrows twitched as he turned to her. He studied her for a second then relaxed. “It doesn’t bother you, does it?” he asked.
Kylara shifted on her feet. “I guess not, no.”
“Good,” he said. He seemed slightly annoyed at himself, although he was still smiling.
“Why do we need an intermediate language in the first place?” Kylara asked flatly. “Shouldn’t you be able to speak Common, being a worldhopper and all?”
The man sighed again. Kylara wondered if she had offended him. She hoped she hadn’t. He seemed like the kind of person you wanted to stay on the right side of. “I should be able to speak it, yes,” he said. He paced another few steps. Then he turned and pointed at Yalmay, a dramatic, showman-like gesture, “It’s your fault, you know.”
Yalmay blinked in surprise. “My fault? What? How?”
“Exactly,” Tal said. “You had no idea the danger, did you?” He paused, thinking. “Which, I suppose, circles right back to it not being your fault again–but that’s not the point.” He rubbed the corner of his eye. “Do parents not teach their children to avoid the Desert anymore?”
He quickly turned away and walked a few metres down the cave, doing the same examination with the next silk cocoon.
“Back in my day,” he said, running his hand along the side of the silk, “elders warned children not to go into the Desert and the children listened. Tales around the fire pit. So what, are they just stories now? Lessons forgotten over the years? Hm?”
He seemed genuinely curious, so Kylara elected to answer. “They still tell them,” she said. “No one goes into the Desert. It is forbidden.”
Tal looked up from the cocoon and glanced at her strangely. “Well, you might not,” he said simply. “The Council made you promise to obey their orders, didn’t they?” He gave a short, disapproving tsk that Kylara thought might be concealing something darker. “That doesn’t give you much leeway to go into the Desert, does it? Not if you wanted to keep your word.”
Kylara supposed he had a point. But still, she would know if people regularly went into the Desert. The town aunties would talk.
She looked at Yalmay for support and stopped in her tracks.
Oh, fuck.
Yalmay looked terrified.
“Yal?” Kylara said softly. Yalmay’s eyes darted towards her. Then away again.
“I…I don't know what he's talking about,” she said.
Well, that was an obvious lie.
“You’ve been going into the Desert,” Kylara stated. She waited for Yalmay to correct her. She would, if it was a lie. Yalmay always corrected her lies.
But her sister stayed eerily silent. “Why?” Kylara asked after a second’s silence.
“I dunno,” Yalmay muttered, staring at the ground. “The first time was an accident and then it just… kept happening.”
That was the worst explanation Kylara had ever heard. Possibly in her life.
Tal stepped forward to interrupt. He looked at Kylara. “Before we start an argument,” he said, “do you know what your Desert is? And I don’t mean where it is or how it is dangerous. I mean, specifically, do you know what warren it’s under?”
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Kylara shook her head. “Some of the elders might know,” she said.
Wawiriya probably knew. She might have told Pemulabee. The other Council members–Malyun, Taligree, Leger, Kylara’s own grandfather–Kylara wasn’t sure. Probably not, she guessed. “But we do know some of the effects. My great-uncle once wandered into the Desert as a child. It changed him. He couldn’t speak for weeks. So it’s probably one of the abstract ones.”
The warren of confusion or the warren of voice or the warren of delirium or something like that, Kylara guessed. Something strange or weird.
“It’s language,” Yalmay said quietly.
Oh.
That made an awful lot of sense.
Yalmay loved language. She absolutely adored it. All those words with their subtle shades of meaning and the way people spoke–she loved it. As kids, she would point out little nuances in conversation to Kylara. She just had an ear for it. She could mimic, she could do impressions, she could sing, she always knew the exact phrase to use. She spoke to every new visitor in town, but not because she actually wanted to hear what they were going to say. Simply because she wanted to hear them talk and collect their accent.
If Yalmay had overheard Wawiriya and found out the Desert was under the language warren–and with Yalmay spending so much time as Joontah’s, it was believable she had–of course she would be too curious to stay away. Of course she would want to know. Language was her passion.
“I’m not great at learning languages,” Yalmay said glumly.
Kylara laughed. “What?”
“I’m not,” Yalmay insisted, “I don’t have the patience for it. Never had.”
“You know like ten different languages,” Kylara said slowly.
“I guess,” Yalmay said. She seemed uncomfortable. She always got uncomfortable whenever Kylara praised her. Especially about being talented. “I didn’t use to be good at it though. Remember Benny Najinghu?”
“No.”
“Yeah, I guess he would’ve left before your year,” Yalmay said. “He was my teacher, year eight. All the students called him Brainy Benny because I dunno–I guess the poor man had the ambition to actually teach us so we needed to make fun of him for trying. But anyway, I went in. I told him I wanted to go to the University. And he just laughed. And he kept laughing. And I asked him what was so funny and he said I needed to actually try if I wanted to go there. And I told him I was trying, I really was, and he just laughed again and said I wasn’t.”
“That’s horrible,” Kylara said. “But why’d you listen to him anyway? He was obviously wrong.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Yalmay said. “He was right. I was bad. Terrible, even. I was bad at everything. But you hear all that stuff about warblers going on adventures and defeating dragons and battling sea monsters and discovering cities made of glass and I wanted to do that. I’m from Saltsbury. A minor offshoot of the empire. We’re only remembered for our prison and our salt exports. And Kookaburra Creek is even worse. No one knows us. Maybe, and it’s very much a maybe–we’re known for having a warder. But that wasn’t me. That was you. So I thought–well, what can I get good at enough that the University would have to accept me? And then one day I overheard Wawiriya saying something about the language warren. And I thought–I could be a translator. That’s what I could do. Maybe I wouldn’t be fighting any dragons but I could be watching it.”
“So you went into the Desert because you thought you were too stupid to learn,” Kylara summarised slowly. She couldn't believe this. Yalmay was one of the smartest people she knew. "You know that's hogwash, right?"
“No, it isn't.”
Kylara shook her head. “But everyone who has ever been in there–I mean, did anyone notice? There were no side effects? The Desert didn’t–” she didn’t know how to say this– “it didn’t hurt you or anything?”
Yalmay sighed. “The first time, I guess. Couldn’t speak for like three weeks. Couldn’t understand anyone either. But it got better and the next time was easier. And the next after that. And the next after that. And then it just became routine. And languages–anything with words really–it got so, so easy. I used to have a stutter. Do you remember that?” Yalmay smiled, like she was reminiscing about some wacky hijinks from her youth. “Imagine me now, having a stutter.”
Kylara was staring at her. How bad a sister was she, to have not noticed Yalmay not speaking for three weeks? And she was speaking of it so casually. How many times had she gone into the Desert?
“I don’t remember you ever not speaking for that long.”
“Well, we weren’t sisters yet. I was er, about fifteen so you were probably twelve or so? I think all the adults thought I got assaulted or something, so they didn’t really talk about it or ask questions.”
Oh, wait. Kylara did have vague memories of that. She had almost convinced herself they were a dream. “Was it a teacher?” she asked.
Yalmay looked pained. “I told them it wasn’t. I really tried. But they didn’t believe me. Poor Brainy Benny. I hope he’s doing alright.”
Kylara rubbed her head. This was a lot to take in. Yalmay apparently had a death wish and she did not even like languages? Maybe? There was a lot to unpack. She felt like she hardly knew her sister at all. She turned away before Yalmay could see the tears in her eyes.
Yalmay, meanwhile, had turned her attention to Tal. “How did you know?” she asked. “I didn’t… tell you, did I?”
Tal exhaled a long breath and looked up from the current cocoon he was examining. They seemed to have stumbled upon a cluster of them. “No, you didn’t tell me.” Yalmay looked at him and for a second, Kylara almost thought she could almost pass as threatening. It was the first time she had ever thought that. It went away almost as quickly as it had appeared. Tal did not seem to be amused. “I didn’t extract it from you, whatever you are thinking. I’m not supernatural. Just… rather clever.” He sighed. “What do you know of elder magic?”
“How’s that matter?” Yalmay said. “I’m not old.”
“Wasn’t saying you were,” Tal muttered. He had gone back to fiddling with some stands of silk. He kept flickering in and out–intangible and then not. Kylara briefly wondered why Yalmay hadn’t asked about it. Then she figured she probably had other priorities. Or maybe she assumed all warblers shimmered.
“Elder magic is a generic term used for magic you get being in the same country for a long time,” Tal explained. “Usually it takes decades to be noticeable. Hence–elder magic. Only elders usually have it. I noticed it on most of your Council, especially Pemulabee. I’m sure you two know of it.”
“It’s a type of local magic,” Kylara said.
Entads, elder magic, and the summonings were all local magics, specific to particular warren. Warders and warlocks–and warblers, if you counted them, were universal magics. They worked anywhere.
“They’re local magic because it’s based on someone's connection to a country. Live in one place long enough and you just start to know it.” Tal shrugged. He was still playing with his silk. “I wouldn’t know–I’m a magsman, all we do is travel, but eventually, if you settle down, it starts affecting your perception of the world. I’m sure your elders know every trail, stream, and meadow in Kookaburra Creek like the back of their own hand. Can navigate in the dark. Move without making a sound. They know precisely when to sow seeds and where to fish and how to keep the soil healthy and can probably smell rain on the wind. At some point that bond stops being just knowledge and starts being magic. And when you are under a warren–well. Sometimes it gives you certain abilities.”
Kylara nodded. She’d seen it plenty of times before. If there was a moth or butterfly in the room, even if it was hidden, Pemulabee could locate it, name it, and sometimes–very rarely–he could control it. There were legends of powerful ancestors that could see through the eyes of a moth, perhaps even turn themselves into one. All without the help of entads.
“What isn't as well known is that that bond never really goes away. I bet Pemulabee would still be able to, oh, I don’t know, find moths in the dark even if he went to Saltsbury. It would be weaker but still there.”
“Really?” Kylara asked. She’d never heard of elder magic travelling between countries.
“The soul protects it. Exact same principle as coming up here, actually. Bring a book into the Up Over and you just get a jumbled mess of what used to be letters. Memorise a book and you might be able to retain some of the information. The soul protects it. It’s why entads get stripped but elder magic doesn’t. Not completely.”
Of course, Kylara thought, the letters would go back to normal when you translated back down. But if you needed say, a map of the warren, you just needed to memorise and hope.
“Unfortunately for me, Deserts have elder magic too. Or most of them do. About three thousand years ago, most Desert elder magic was deemed too dangerous and restricted to one person at a time.” He took a deep breath. “Until about an hour ago, that person–the holder of all the elder magic for the language warren–that person was me. Now it’s your sister.”
He gave Yalmay a short glare, but it wasn’t threatening. It was kind. Again, Kylara got the impression he was more annoyed with himself than anything.
“Is that bad?” Yalmay asked. She shifted back a little. “Being this–holder?”
“No, not necessarily,” he said. He snapped off a wad of silk, looked at it for a second, then tossed it over his shoulder. He seemed incredibly nonchalant about touching it. Kylara was starting to get the impression that the whole five-minutes-or-I-die thing was an exaggeration after all.
“You’re lucky I spent a lot of time sorting it out already,” he said. He glanced over to her. He had a dangerous look in his eyes. “You would already be dead if I hadn’t, so you’re welcome for that.”
Yalmay swallowed nervously. “Thank you,” she said.
Tal then stood up and approached Yalmay, more serious than Kylara had ever seen him. She could tell he wasn’t intangible, but the shadows still seemed to move around him strangely, giving her a feeling of unease. They rippled as if they were alive, deepening as he got closer like a veil. Kylara shuddered.
It was probably nothing. The orb was still following him and only him. That was probably why it looked strange. Lights didn’t usually follow people. At least that was what she hoped. She didn’t want to think of other possibilities.
Tal stopped about a half metre in front of Yalmay, who looked ready to curl into a ball.
“Of course,” he spoke softly to her, “everything is configured to me, not you. I hope isn’t going to be too much of a problem. Probably not, I’m a shadow of my former self. As for benefits, weelll. I doubt you’ll have any trouble understanding anyone anymore. Every language ever, right in your head.” He poked her. “Cool, isn’t it?”
Yalmay looked up. She was chewing her lip. “All of them?” she said quietly.
“All of them,” he confirmed, smiling widely. “Even the nonhuman ones. Well, except for Wanderers. They might still be able to fool you. You might even be able to change someone’s perception of language, although that might be a bit too advanced. I can tell you for a fact that that first one already kicked in because you could understand me fine back in the Down Under. And you also did awfully well making up a poem on the spot to your Wanderer friend.”
“Is there a downside?” Kylara spoke. There had to be a downside. There always was.
Tal made a face. “Responsibility, I suppose? Don’t be irresponsible.” His voice shifted deeper and the shadows returned. “I’m trusting you,” he said. “If you do anything I wouldn’t approve of–and I mean anything–I will find you and I will stop you.” There was the weight of absolute judgment in his voice. He held it for a moment. The world seemed to slow down. Then, just as fast as it had come, his voice turned cheery again, “Don’t make me do anything, understood? I’m trusting you.” He patted her on the shoulder.
Yalmay nodded. She did not make eye contact with him.
“You understand?” he asked again. He waited until Yalmay looked up to meet his eyes. Kylara noticed she was crying.
“I’ll be responsible,” she said.
“Good,” he said. “Great even.” He clapped and turned away to go back to the cocoons as if nothing had happened.
Kylara ran after him, leaving Yalmay by herself in the dark.
“Are you sure there isn’t a downside?” she asked him. There had to be, and Kylara needed to know it. She needed to protect her sister, even if her sister was turning out to be someone she barely even knew. “And what did you mean responsibility? How can knowing a language need responsibility? And if there really isn’t any downside, why were you so bothered before?”
Tal smiled at her. “Oh, I do like you,” he said. “I threaten someone and now you ask me questions. Should’ve just been threatening people from the start.”
Something about the joke didn’t land. Kylara crossed her arms. “I still want answers.”
“The problem is entirely on me. I got lazy. I got complacent. I got old.” The last sentence he said with an almost sneer. “I thought, Tal, you can barely keep track of everything in your own head. And gods help me if I needed to put other things in there. So I had this brilliant idea–why not just forget every language I ever learnt and use the warren instead? Then I wouldn’t need to remember anything and I would still have room for the important stuff. Anyway, that backfired. Children, learn from my mistakes.”
It took Kylara a minute to take that in.
“Wait,” she said, “are you saying you don’t remember how to speak any language now? If we went Down Under you would be what–mute?”
“Unfortunately.” He sighed. “It’s going to be such a pain relearning. I’m a magsman. All I do is speak. And I’m a fast learner, but it’s still going to be such a hassle. Not to mention all the stuff I’m going to have to delete to make room again. Ugh.”
“Maybe there’s another way. Maybe there’s an entad in the Desert–”
“Which won’t work in other countries,” Tal dismissed.
Kylara stopped short. To be honest, she was surprised he was answering her questions at all. She was clearly out of her depth, asking amateur questions to an expert. But still–she had to at least try.
“There has to be a way–” possible lie –“at least I hope. We can’t just leave you. You'd only be able to speak to Yalmay. That’s horrible. And no offence to Yalmay, but I can't imagine how lonely that would be. Are you sure you forgot everything? Can you get it back? Is it transferable?” she glanced back to Yalmay, who was still standing in the same spot as before. She certainly needed the skill less than him. Even with the University.
“I’ve got one tongue left,” Tal sighed, “but it’s not going to be much help. I’m the only speaker.” He gave a short bitter laugh. “And the only way to transfer it back to me… well. I suppose I could kill your sister. I’m not going to, but I could.” He glanced at Kylara’s face and winced. “Oooh, sorry. Joke didn’t translate well.” He held up his hands. “I’m not going to kill her. Don’t worry.” He sucked an awkward breath in and looked up at several more cocoons on the ceiling, his eyes flickering back and forth. “Can you give me a ward? I want to take a look at those. I think I found it.”
“What kind of ward?” Kylara asked.
“My shoes are red kangaroo leather. And I just want a few steps up to that.” He pointed at a particular cocoon. “Don’t bother adding a light ward, I’ll be able to see it fine as is.”
Kylara took a minute to calculate the warding questions–she had them memorised but constructing steps were rather complicated. It took a while to plug all the numbers in.
“Done,” she said.
Tal, who had been watching her closely, grinned. “Thought that might work,” he said. But before Kylara could ask what he meant, he was gone. He practically skipped up the stairs. The light followed him. The light looked like it was skipping too. It was amusing to watch. A little floating orb, trying to skip. Kylara smiled.
Then Tal glanced at the cocoon and froze.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “Oh Tal. You idiot. You old, bumbling fool. Can’t even translate straight anymore.”
Kylara frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Yalmay asked. She had finally walked over, back into the light.
“Well,” Tal said. He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it. Kylara could tell he was still fully tangible by the way it moved. “Good news–I think I found the master knot.”
The master knot? What was that?
“And the bad?” Kylara asked.
“Well,” he looked at the cocoon again. “Bad is that I think this is about to get very awkward very quickly.”
He reached up and, instead of pulling the silk away like he had done before, grabbed a single, large strand hanging from the ceiling and jumped.
At first there was resistance, but then the strand began to loosen. It started slowly at first. A few smaller knots near the top of the cave started to twist open. One of the cocoons nearest to Tal split, its seams blooming like a flower. Then strand after strand started to come undone. Loop after loop. A rippled effect began to spread across the ceiling. Once tangled strands unfolded rapidly. Within moments, the whole cave seemed to be moving. The ceiling, the floors–all the silk was unravelling. Tightly wound bundle after tightly wound bundle. Cocoons unravelled and fell to the ground like glossy rain. It was a mesmerising sight. A waterfall of silk. The falling strands caught the light in just the right way. They glowed like liquid moonbeams.
Kylara stared in awe. It was beautiful, even in low light. She could barely believe tugging on one strand had done this–but anything was possible in the warrens. Anything could be done if you knew the right rules and the right songs.
“Woah,” Yalmay breathed.
Kylara gave her a small smile. This was the best part of travelling. Seeing things like this. The warrens could be just as beautiful as they were dangerous. Rarely, not often but sometimes–you saw things like this.
When the last of the strands had fallen to the floor, Yalmay pointed directly above them. One cocoon was still intact. It was the only one left.
“We’re lucky that one didn’t break,” Yalmay said, “we’d be covered in silk otherwise. And this stuff–” she gestured at the silk still stuck to her own body “–this stuff is really fucking annoying. Beautiful. But also fucking annoying.”
Tal looked at her strangely. Kylara had a funny feeling that had been deliberate on his part. He seemed to spend a second considering whether or not he should take credit for it, then he shook his head, muttered something under his breath–Kylara couldn’t make out the words but they sounded harsh–and then he ripped the silk from the last remaining cocoon with his hands.
A body fell out.
Yalmay shrieked. Kylara jumped out of the way.
A little notice would’ve been nice, she thought, glancing up at Tal. His expression was unreadable.
“Is it…?” Yalmay said.
“Not dead, no,” Kylara said. The body was breathing.
“Hiya,” Yalmay waved. “Are you… okay?” She took a step forward. She would’ve taken another if Kylara hadn’t grabbed her arm.
“Headache,” the person groaned, looking up at them. “And possibly a concussion. Yal, you would not believe what–”
Kylara stared. Yalmay stared.
“Yal, Kya–what’s wrong?”
“–Joontah?” Kylara asked. At the same time Yalmay said–
“–Janeyca?”
For the person looking at them was a perfect mix of both.
Tal jumped down from the ceiling. “So,” he said, “that’s that.” He glanced between the three of them and sighed. “Oh, I really did mess this up, didn’t I?”