20 - Muted

A sinewy shoulder had been digging through the thick coat of feathers and into Yagbur's stomach. His stomach was uncomfortable and bruised, but the kesit was coming around. He was vaguely aware something had happened. There was something like noise. That sound had faded. He should be glad except his ears still rang.

After some time he recognized who had been carrying him. Yagbur felt rather than heard the distinct fluttering of the Kesit's heart. He smelled that distinctly off musk. It was Sanshall.

Perhaps there should be relief that he was away from whatever happened, but Yagbur didn't feel safe being alone with any others. He knew what he was. He knew what repulsed each of the Kin to a primal, physical level. Yagbur knew it would only be right, but it was not something he would resign himself to.

There was that promise. That chance for glory, to be made whole. For the survival of the Kin, Yagbur would deliver the Seed of the North. In waves, the dauver would perish. Their blood would quench the Kin.

They stopped and Sanshall proceeded to drop him. Rotting leaves and dirt flung into the air.

"This is far enough", the way minder said while casually digging through his pack.

It was all still muffled and disorienting. Yagbur took off the headwear and rubbed at his ears. It was loud, but it wasn't from whatever had made the other sound earlier. Everything was muffled.

"My hearing is wrong.", Yagbur spoke, but it didn't sound like his voice. Sanshall continued rummaging through his pack, but stopped, turned his head, and nodded. The tall lanky kesit turned back around and continued whatever it was he was doing.

Yagbur's eyes wandered and looked around the forest. Yellow and blue hacktet brambles clumped around the trees. White and green spined fungi clung to the underbrush. He even spotted an old cracked hive of the biting birds hidden in the rotting hole in a tree nearby. It would have been beautiful, but he heard none of it. He was so used to being apart of the world around him. Even during their journey to the black lands, Enkyall's song was a part of him and he was a part of it.

What was worse was that slow encroaching feeling of dread. It was one that preceded the realization of what was wrong. His pack was still there. The singer still felt it sloshing on his back, but still, he could not hear it. He could not hear the disgusting absence, he could not delve into the surroundings. He was deaf to the workings in Enkyall. He was alienated, alone.

They continued like this for some moments. Sanshall dug through his pack, and Yagbur let the dread sink deep into his lungs. His world was small now. Dread turned to panic and he started imagining the thing in his pack creeping around and strangling him. Yagbur removed the pack. His hand rested on the flap. Dirt and black fern resin sealed the pack, but he could see the cracks where it had been opened and resealed. He needed to make sure it was asleep. He had lulled it before, but now he could not hear it. He needed to see. Yagbur's mind was frantic with fear.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

* * *

Sanshall looked through his pack to account for whatever provisions they had. He felt they were safe here. With the exception of his hearing, his senses had returned to normal. Baru-Rogs would do that though.

He still remembered his time as a chela. Great Shaman Valcha would lure animals to them while they slept in the wild. It was that night Sanshall had first noticed his senses acting strange. It was as if his taste was his hearing, his hearing, colors. He had thought he was hallucinating from the long fast they had been put through. His senses had compelled him to get up and away from the vent. Before he had done so he saw the Shaman of the Plains spreading a liquid around the mouth of the vent and onto chela not standing their vigil.

There was disorientation back then but he did not recall it being such complete deafness. Yagbur continued his complaints. Sanshall understood, but to complain was weakness, and weakness was not of the kin. Soft soil is easiest to stand on. What matter is it if he cannot hear?

He turned to look at the whining welp. Colors flared stinging his nostrils. The Way Minder's anger flared as his tongue-tied. Never mind the constant danger that flared around Yagbur, and never mind prior warnings he felt. His hand found the fang lashed to the side of the bag. Fang struck and scored the singer's knuckles on both hands. Dark violet blood was near tinged with red. It dripped from the kesit's bald knuckled spattering the bag.

Yagbur's eyes gained focus and he startled. He whimpered and keened. Sanshall may have his deformity hidden, but he was not soft like this one.

"You cut me," Yagbur complained as he rubbed dirt into his knuckles to staunch the blood.

"Will you stop being so pathetic." Sanshall bit back, and continued, "what would have happened if you opened that?"

Yagbur looked down. He stared at his pack and wondered at what he had been doing. "It's not as if you know either," he said in response.

"This twisted chela," Sanshall seethed. "Have you already forgotten the constant boiling and frothing. Valcha sealed the pack and all that stopped."

"It stopped because I told it to sleep" Yagbur replied, "I may be twisted, but I earned a name. I survived the same rights as you."

"I was not there, but to hear of it you fasted and served as much purpose as a rotting piece of meat to bait those bugs."

There was bitter color again, but it was faint. The singer's nose flared and he clumsily swung a sharpened bill at Sanshall. It was easy enough to catch his wrist. Striking him was easier still. The singer's body fell with the force of it, but soon he tried to stand again.

His hand still wrapped around Yagbur's wrist he jerked him forward before driving his knee into his guts.

"See just a chela," the minder said and spat at the ball of waxy feathers and fur. Yagbur moaned.

* * *

Hazel eyes looked down. The being had not wanted to wedge such close friends apart, but they could not hear him. It was really the tallest one's fault. The had called the messenger back before he could. It was unfortunately unavoidable. As it was now he had already interfered enough, and entropy's re-balancing was hard to predict.

His musings failed to hold his attention long. The dauver and his first creation were singing among the lights to one another. The sentinel colonies were not aware in the same sense; but still, they answered the dauver's many queries. They were such wonderful analogs of one another. They both were excellent builders. Where one instinctively creates beautiful towers, the other orchestrates complex musical structures. Their songs both pleased him to no end too. One sings the world they see with light and the other sings of how they are manipulating the world with sound.

His hands plucked a beam of light from the web they wove across his world. He listened. He shook his head and looked down searching. They were responding to how he knew they would. As always instinctive. All his efforts to warn them amounted to little. He had surrendered much to entropy. Even now he could see only a few paths. He would either lose his creative architects, or he would lose such deep emotion. Surely there was a way for them to reconcile this imbalance. So much effort had gone into bringing two towards his goals.

Eyes looked down again. Quickly they found his last interference. It was the new dauver queen. It had been too long since the last dauver schism. Splitting the hive had been a whim, but what wasn't. This was would be spectacular. He could feel it. This queen was inspired and far less ridged than her predecessor. How would she interact with his happy furry people? Perhaps she would be nicer.