We cry out in the holy place, but only darkness answers. O Hunt, O Gather, you face each other – and leave us gasping in the steam.

Yet we breathe on. Awake our breath comes from you. You are our gods and we are your people.

When the Cursed cried out, you gathered us.

You heard our pleas.

You brought us home.

– excerpt from Odes by the Cursed Lodge Mother

Written 871 years after the Crash Landing

Nothing. That was what echoed in Rajani’s mind. Nothing. The gods had fallen silent – or maybe she was now as deaf to them as Sukren was blind to the world. Deafness, though, didn’t mean she couldn’t speak. She could speak – she could rail – she could accuse – and so she did.

Stolen story; please report.

You have abandoned us! she howled. You claim to be our gods – hah! You, who allowed our urb to be laid waste. You, who allowed us to be captured. You, who allowed our children to be killed. I accuse you by name. Either you are powerless, unable to stop the overbelters from destroying us, or you are evil, hating us and desiring to see our death. Either way, you have betrayed us.

How could you! How could you!

Others around her might beg Hunt and Gather to restore them; even Lainla might still weep to them for comfort. But Rajani had leapt ahead. If Hunt and Gather were unable to prevent this raid, this rape, of the Cursed, then they were not worth following. And they were absolutely not worth following if they could have stopped it but didn’t care enough to keep the Cursed from being dragged from their lodges into this land where all they heard every single damn day was the same curse mutineer, mutineer, flaring mutineers, mutineer shut up, mutineer hurry up, mutineer, mutineer, mutineer!

Once in a while, during those terrible first two weeks that the remnant of the Cursed spent inside the Xhota pens, Rajani would break down. Only then would she cry out, like she used to, to Hunt and Gather. You promised me! You promised me! You promised me light and life!