Rylett, Champion of The Protector.
Date [standardised human time]: October 26th, 2119
(16 years, 10 months, 8 days before the invasion of the radji Cradle).
The summer conferences were always a trying time in the school calendar, but it was a shame that this year’s had coincided with the onset of the damnable perigee. The light of Ki-yu glowed slightly brighter in the night sky as Rylett looked out of her tiny classroom window. From this position she had a clear view of the Tears with their many bridges, and the undercity leading up to Bendara’s more prosperous districts. Above them, Ki-yu stayed luminous where the lights of the Cradle flowed and ebbed. A dark portent from the dark demigod. Whilst the motions of moons were well understood to be natural phenomena, not the actual Gods themselves, the signs of the divine’s presence were clear enough. Whilst not all of the Cradle would be swept up in the moon-god’s wrath, the region nearest to it was always in for a hard time. Last approach had been far too close to Bendara for comfort, and whilst this perigee was over the ocean to the north-west, it would still be felt. It started, like all evil, subtly; a light in the night, growing brighter. Soon he would be visible during the day, and the shipyards would tie up anchor, lest they be caught beneath rogue waves at sea. The ports would be abandoned, the river folk would fall back. Some areas would overflow their embankments, others would run dry as their moisture rejoined the sea. Even now, late in the evening, boats attempted to harvest the last of the ocean crops in vile inky seas, the bobbing of their pilot lights seeming to blend with the stars twinkling above. It felt like her small window looked out on empty space, the lights like flares at the edge of her vision. Hypoxia, as the vacuum promises sweet relief. She shook her head of it; the phantom memory was another knife in the night, but that was an old wound.
She pulled the file she had been looking for from the windowsill cabinet and turned back to the father and daughter sitting by her desk. Classrooms always felt hollow without their children, with all adornments stripped back. There should be pictures on the walls and students at play, she reflected. It’s too dark, the rooms too quiet, and… he’s staring at me… How long have I been standing here? Rylett cleared her throat awkwardly as she sat back down, Teraka wearing a bemused expression.
“A long day, I take it?” he asked. Rylett sighed through a smile at him.
“A trying semester, more like. My apologies.”
“None needed,” he said with a placating paw and a tilt of his head. “I do not miss the drain of the working week.”
Teraka was a strange man, the Priestess thought. On the outside he seemed like an ordinary radji, although perhaps a little vainer than most considering how well-groomed he was. But the longer Rylett looked at him, the more she got the feeling that something was awry. His demeanour was too polished, his mannerisms too precise, like civility was some game he had played, practiced, and mastered. It screamed of deception, or at least some kind of pretext he had built around the real man. When he wakes and stands before the mirror in the middle of the night, does that benign smile slide from his lips? she wondered. Were it not for his former line of work, she might have suspected him of having the predator disease. But he smiled and talked to Callio in much the same way as anyone else, even when she had watched them from afar. The girl seemed quite fond of her father, and if Rylett knew anything about the man for certain it was that he loved his daughter. We all have secrets I suppose.
“Here,” Rylett said, turning the exam papers over and pointing to a question that had been circled in a red pen. “This one.” The question was a problem of geometry, trying to find the perimeter for an unusual rhomboid shape.
“Callio,” she asked, “how did you answer this question?” The girl looked awkward.
“Well… I couldn’t remember the formula, so I tried to use triangles instead.” She shrugged. “It didn’t work.”
“No,” Rylett said, smiling at her excitedly. “But the answer you got was very close. It was not what the question asked you to do, but you almost got there anyway. Most children would just move on to the next question, or maybe guess. You tried your best, and when you were faced with a problem you could not solve, you tried to find a way to answer it anyway.” Teraka’s eyes glimmered something fierce as he flipped through the rest of the exam papers.
“Darling, it seems to me that you answered every other question correctly,” he praised her, passing the papers back to Rylett.
“Callio,” she said, “not every question has a definable answer, at least not at first. Often, we don’t have the tools, or the formulas, or the right method to really understand what we’re looking at.” She ripped the page in half, silently delighting in the way the girl gasped as she tossed the remaining papers into her bin haphazardly. “I don’t care about exam results, I don’t care about you getting the answer right, and I certainly don’t care about students cramming to remember things they’ll forget a week later.” She slid the question back over the table at them. “But what I do care about is ingenuity. Creativity. Passion. You have all of these in good measure.” She tapped a claw on the question. “I want you to keep that and remember this lesson.”
“Yes, miss,” Callio whispered abashedly. The girl was so taken aback she was positively vibrating. Her father tussled a paw between her ears affectionately. Rylett stood and turned to him, her voice warm.
“I have little more to say other than that you should be proud.”
“Of that,” the man said softly as he stood too, “you can be certain.” He smiled down at his daughter. “If that’s everything?” Rylett nodded.
“You made a copy of those papers, didn’t you?” Teraka whispered to her as she walked them to the door.
“Oh, of course!” she whispered back, the two sharing a wry smile.
Another family was waiting by the door, a portly couple contrasted by their stick-thin son. And now, she mused, for something completely different. At least it’s the last one.
“Hey Yotun,” Callio said quietly, the boy looking down at his feet as she passed. Laenar did not seem to notice, offering a tautly lipped smile.
“How’re you, Priestess?” the woman asked.
“Well enough,” she said, ushering them into the classroom. “I trust business is good?”
“Good enough,” Arrut said toothily, sitting beside his partner. “So, tell us where we’re standing.”
The talk with Yotun’s parents was much more uncomfortable than the one with Teraka and Callio. The boy evidently had not mentioned his altercation with Imdi, and it clearly angered them both. Rylett decided not to press the issue too visibly but kept a close eye on the parents. As a Champion she had a duty to notify authorities if she suspected a child to be in danger. For the moment, watch.
The boy’s grades were good enough, and that seemed to sate any visible resentment. It was Yotun’s physical health that concerned her the most. Whilst his family was ‘well-off’ in every sense, Yotun looked like he barely ate. It was so obtuse it seemed at best like a poorly written joke, and at worst a cruel torment. The conversation seemed to reach its natural end —an acknowledgement from all parties that more could be done to help him— and yet the boy had not mentioned his nightmares.
“Might I have a word with Yotun alone?” The parents shared a glance but left them in the classroom. She waited until their silhouettes had vanished from the opaque glass of her door. Rylett fixed Yotun with her most patient and reserved expression, one she knew he could not stand.
“Am I in trouble?” he said quietly after a few moments.
“I don’t think so. Do you think you are in trouble?” Yotun just shrugged, fidgeting as he looked distantly out of the window. “Is everything alright between you and Callio?” she asked, tossing her head in the direction of the door, and the long-departed girl. “You used to be like clay and mud.”
“We’re fine,” he mumbled, his words an obvious lie.
“What about your parents? Have you spoken to them about your nightmares?” she asked him. The boy just looked away grumpily. “You haven’t been yourself for a while… and the fight you had with Imdi.” She tutted at him. “That was decidedly out of character.”
“It wasn’t a fight,” he said defensively. “The other kids were ganging up on him. That was months ago, we’ve made up since then.”
“Yet I never see you with anyone. Callio still talks to Imdi, and she has other friends. Even he seems to get on well with some of his dormmates now.” She sighed down her nose at him, more concerned than frustrated. “She’s fond of you, you know?” Again, he said nothing, looking down at his feet abashedly. Rylett stood from her desk and walked around to where he sat, squatting down in front of him. “Something’s eating at you Yotun. Something important. If you can’t talk to me about it, or you can’t talk to your parents, or your friends, who is there to turn to?” He wanted to speak; she could see it on his face. “We’re all here for you, you just need to reach out, okay?”
“I’ll… talk to Callio,” he whispered at last. Not exactly what I was after, but it’s a start. She rubbed a paw on his shoulder.
“Okay,” Rylett whispered, giving him what she hoped was an understanding smile. “Thank you. I’m here as well, okay?” The boy nodded sheepishly.
When she walked him out of the classroom, Arrut and Laenar were waiting somewhat impatiently nearby.
“Thank you,” she told them as Arrut placed a paw tenderly on his son’s shoulder. To Rylett, it looked like the man was afraid one of them would burst into flames. Much to her surprise Laenar leaned close.
“Are we doing something wrong?” she whispered, concern and shame on her features. “We’ve… tried talking to him, but he won’t listen. I… don’t know what to do…”
“Often, I have found, children don’t speak with words. It can be frustrating, and you want to pin them down on specifics like an adult.” Rylett placed a paw on the other woman’s forearm. “But children don’t work like that. When he does come to you, and he will, drop everything and listen.”
“Thank you,” Laenar whispered, but she still looked defeated.
Rylett turned back to Yotun, but the boy was looking intently down the hall. Following his gaze, she saw the unmistakeable profile of Braq talking with Priest Harbeck. He stood behind Imdi with his paws on the boy’s shoulders, Imdi balancing on his father’s feet. Beyond Braq, a caramel-coloured woman stood, smiling warmly as she watched the boys try to behave themselves. That must be Turin, she deduced. Arrut cleared his throat.
“Any more meetings tonight?” he asked amiably. Harbeck offered the couple a smile, Braq patting his son on the shoulder before they exchanged pleasantries and started toward them.
“Just one…” she heard herself say distantly, turning back to the family. “A pleasure, as always.” Rylett told the parents, giving them her softest smile and a bow, and they started away. Rylett stepped into her classroom for a moment, trying to decide on her course of action. Something is amiss with Yotun, and it started with Imdi… As much as she had tried to ignore it, the little question had been stewing like a succulent meal in the back of her mind for months. But healthy curiosity had given way to a profound sense that something was wrong, and the meal had turned rancid. Should I? she asked herself. Is it my place? Yes… I have a duty to perform, to both of them. The first tenet; do what you can, no matter how difficult. Rylett made a show of cleaning the glass on her classroom door, waiting for the family to approach. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Yotun look back eagerly as they rounded a corner.
“Hi Priestess!” Imdi called out when he spotted her. Rylett feigned seeing them for the first time, but the smile at the sight of him toddling between his parents was genuine.
“Hello Imdi,” she piped at him, looking between the adults. “Braq… and you must be Turin.” She gave them both a light bow, taking the time to carefully observe this new woman. Although much slighter, Turin, it seemed, had also gained the same rugged athleticism of her partner. Despite her short stature there was a balance and control to her movements that spoke of an assuredness to her character. Her claws and fur were ragged, and although recently cleaned, the latter had been kissed blonde in places by her time in the wild. Turin’s face was lined from smiles and sun in equal measure, giving her a resolute and cheerful appearance.
“Priestess Rylett I take it,” Turin said, her voice rich and clear. “Both my boys speak fondly of you.” The glance Turin shot her partner was downright devious, but when she turned back to Rylett the Priestess got the impression that she was also being scrutinised.
“You are too kind.” Rylett said, gripping her paws behind herself. “I take it Imdi has been doing well?”
“Yes!” Braq said, almost bouncing on his feet. “Priest Harbeck says he’s eager, very good for his age.” The boy looked away abashedly.
“That must be quite gratifying,” Rylett said. “Has he told you about the school motto yet?”
“He pointed it out on the way in,” Turin said.
“First day of his second week, he sat outside before class started and worked hard at it.” She shook her head; it really was quite impressive for one so young. “To think… Imdi has had some difficulties settling in, but I think he has overcome them. He is an exemplary student.” It was somewhat adorable how much the big man had to restrain himself from tussling his son’s head.
“We almost miss the days when he wasn’t so talkative!” Braq said, his restraint snapping as he lay a hefty paw into the boy’s scalp. Rylett made a little gasp, as though recalling something.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Ah! That reminds me: Imdi you wanted some more books, yes?” The boy looked on excitedly.
“You got the picture ones!” he gasped.
“I did indeed!” she chuckled, gesturing for the family to join her in the classroom. Once they had all crossed the threshold she casually, but quickly, shut the door. Turin looked at her strangely as Rylett strode past them.
“This is a lovely classroom,” she commented, feeling the rug beneath her feet.
“Thank you,” Rylett replied, quickly retrieving the books from her cupboard and placing them on her desk. “Actually, there might be something you could help me with.”
Rylett rapped her claws against the hardcovers, watching as the parents glanced at one another. Imdi, obliviously, wandered up to the desk, happily taking a book from her and flicking through it idly.
“Oh dear,” Braq said drolly, turning to his partner. “Why do I feel like I’m back in my father’s office.” Rylett chuckled, gesturing to the seats in front of her.
“My apologies, I didn’t intend to ambush you,” the Priestess said as they all sat. ”But I thought we might use this as an opportunity to discuss an issue that has been on my mind.”
“What kind of issue?” Turin asked genially.
“The issue of your daughter.” Their smiles died at once, and Rylett studied their reactions hard. Turin seemed to freeze up, her arms instinctively pulling Imdi closer to herself. The boy’s scarred lip wobbled, his eyes wide. Braq’s paw tightened into a fist as he looked to his partner, just for a moment, before he turned back to Rylett.
“We don’t have a daughter,” Turin said stiffly, one paw moving to grip the arm of her chair.
“Really?” she looked at the boy, silently hating the fact that her words made the boy look so scared. “Do you have a sister Imdi?” The boy’s mouth opened and closed as he looked between his parents.
“A simple yes or no would suffice,” she said, Turin shooting her a look of pure venom.
“We do not have a daughter,” Turin repeated, anger seeping into her tone. That more or less confirms it, Rylett thought, somewhat satisfied.
“I’m sorry Imdi,” she told him. “Before you blame the boy know that he told me nothing. On Imdi’s second day here there was an altercation between himself and another student.”
“We know,” Braq said through his teeth.
“Then you’ll be aware that the physical bout started when Imdi mentioned having a sister.” She let her words sit for a moment, the sharp edges of a migraine starting to seep in from Imdi’s trembling. If the daughter’s in danger, I must know. “The other party denies it, says it was a ‘misunderstanding’, and that they are both now on good terms. But a third party maintains that Imdi mentioned a sister.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, other than that you’re mistaken,” Turin said coolly. “There is no sister. Thank you for the books, Priestess.” She stood and turned toward the door, Imdi in tow.
“I would remind you,” Rylett called out, “that as a teacher and as a Champion I have a duty of care for all of Kay-ut’s offspring, and that should I suspect a child to be in danger, that I have a moral, religious, and legal duty to report it.” That stopped Turin, her paw resting on the handle. Braq still sat opposite, and whilst Rylett did not feel under any threat—she had all the cards after all—something about him was radiantly dangerous. Turin started making soothing sounds as Imdi started crying against her. It grated against Rylett’s sensibilities, and her resolve faltered for but a moment. They float weightlessly, blue blood spinning from him in a terrible pirouette as the last of the air leaves them. She quashed the spectre again, focusing on her teachings. Second tenet; conviction in our beliefs, courage in our actions. Turin still had not moved from the door.
“Shall we at least start with her name?” Again silence. She tutted at them. “Come now, we’re all adults, Imdi excluded. I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation for the secrecy. It’s not my job to police your home life, but I do have a certain responsibility for the welfare of all children, regardless of whether they’re in my classroom or not. So, I ask again, what is her name?”
“Ki-yu,” Braq said casually, so casually in fact that it caught her off guard. The name was like a mallet to the cranium.
“I’m sorry?”
“Ki-yu,” he repeated.
“Y-yes I got that,” she stammered, “what I mean to say is, why in Kay-ut you’d ever name a child… that?!” Braq scowled at her, shaking his head.
“We wouldn’t have called her anything else.” Turin said uncertainly, like she could not believe she was speaking. Her eyes were sharp and piercing as she turned back to Rylett, her calculating intelligence like a wildfire that was trying to escape her pupils. Between her gaze and her unkempt fur, the woman looked positively feral. Rylett shifted, uncomfortable with this strange godless family.
“How old is she?”
“Two,” Braq muttered, “almost three.”
“So why isn’t she in school?”
“We have our reasons.”
“Specifically?” The man sat there, grinding his teeth. Something is terribly amiss here… “Are these the same reasons that you named her after the trickster, Ki-yu?! The one who brought destruction to the Cradle, who still brings destruction.” she added, flinging her paw to the light out of the window. “And to raise her away in the middle of a forest, around predators?!” She shook her head. “It’s a despicable thing to do to a child.” Braq looked like he had slapped her, and the chair squealed jarringly as he stood.
“I love her,” he said quietly. “Say what you will about me, about what we do. But don’t you dare think that I do not love her. Have you ever loved anyone unconditionally?” Despite her training, her own disposition, her years of peacefulness, the Priestess’s quills bristled. The third tenet; protect the innocent. Her own chair was flung backward as she too stood.
“Do not mistake me for some weak evangelical who was born to faith like a fish to water and knows not the joys nor harshness of the sun and land! Charlatans whose piety is as false and thin as a veil that they don at their leisure!” She looked hard at Turin, respecting the mother she saw, but not letting her tone faulter. “I have supped of the ecstasy of love, known the tribulation of childbirth, and the transcendent glory of a new-born son in my arms! And I have witnessed their end, watched my dearest fall into darkness and my son bleed in the same arms that first held him!” She stood as tall as she could before them, her holy rage keeping her voice clear. Kay-ut bless me, I have nothing to hide. “I am Rylett, Champion of Kay-ut and Guardian of the Faith. I chose this life. Not to hide from their deaths, nor to spread this faith, but to protect others! And I still love them, now and forever, I love them. So yes, sir, I know what ‘unconditional love’ is!” She leaned over the table, looking up at the massive man. “And I pray you will never know it as I do!” the Priestess spat. Panting she pulled back, ignoring the way her claws scratched at the wood. The room was silent, even Imdi had stopped crying. “I would like to meet her.” Rylett said coolly, folding her paws before her.
“No,” Braq said hoarsely.
“Then you leave me no choice but to request a formal inspection of your premises, on the concern for the safety of a child. Good night.” And with that she strode around the table, fully intending to leave.
“No!” Imdi called out desperately to her. “P-please don’t hurt her!” Me… hurt her? The thought stopped her still.
“Wait,” Braq said as he blocked her path, the man towering over her. Rylett looked him dead in the eye, expecting an attack, but saw naught but conviction. His snout wrinkled down at her, and he nodded to himself.
“Believe me,” he said placing his paw on his chest, “Priestess, as one who was raised in the faith, I would like nothing more than for Ki-yu to have the same opportunities as Imdi. To come to school! To learn! To have friends! To run and play and make mistakes!” The big man sagged slightly. His partner looked at him with wide eyes, clutching Imdi to her tightly. “Our daughter is… adopted. Her parents abandoned her. When she first came to us, we feared what her life would be. She has… difficulties. People have always judged her based on how she looks, not who she is!” he said fiercely. “The other children would not respect her, they would torment her, bully her. She’s anxious… she’s had nothing but bad experiences with strangers. So, we raise her as best we can. Alone, yes, but… we’d hoped th-that we would be enough…” Braq’s voice shook with the last word, and his breath caught in his throat. Turin strode over at once, placing an arm across his wide shaking shoulders.
“You asked us,” she said, “why we would ever name a child Ki-yu. The traditional interpretation of that story is that it was Ki-yu’s actions that brought predators and disorder to the world. I used to think that too, but…” she looked at the priestess pleadingly, “…if you’ll allow me a little blasphemy, I think there’s a different interpretation.” Rylett raised a brow and gestured for her to continue. “The disorder didn’t come into the world until after Kay-ut banished Ki-yu, and it was that neglect that needed correcting by the creation of The Protector, not the arrival of the predators.”
“The sin,” Braq sniffled, finding his voice, “was the abandonment of a child. That was the great evil.” Braq’s eyes were wet and honest, and Rylett was not sure if she was looking at a man or a child. “My father abandoned me,” he said. “Pushed us away. Priestess, we named our daughter Ki-yu to remind us that we should never do the same. That was our promise.” Turin chewed her lip as she cried silently beside him.
“We love her,” Imdi mumbled, “more than anything.” ‘I love you,’ she whispers to what remains of her little boy. She’s the only one left.
Rylett stood there, flabbergasted. It took a monumental effort to free herself from her stupor, from the echoes of grief. Slowly she started rapping her claws on the desk beside her as she considered their words. An honest answer, from honest people.
“You’re right,” Rylett said at last, “that is blasphemy.” She watched as the parents blinked back tears at her. “But, if I’m honest… it’s one that I have also entertained. I think I understand.” Braq almost fell, Turin and Rylett having to catch him. I’ve hurt them, she realised as they guided him back into the chair. The fourth and final tenet; resolve your wrongs, respect your mistakes.
“I’m… sorry,” she told them. “I respect your situation, and I understand your precautions. And whilst I still… disapprove of the name, I should have gone about that differently.”
“Thank you…” Braq whispered. Rylett felt great shame as she watched the family shudder, but her curiosity burned within her still.
“You said she has a difficulty?” she prompted quietly.
“Her appearance,” Turin said softly. “I’ve always found her beautiful, but others find it disturbing. She was born that way.”
“Isn’t she lonely?”
“Dreadfully so,” Braq said, taking his tiny son’s paw in his massive mitt. “We’ve all grown quite close to her. But… a child should have friends.” He sighed impotently, Turin resting her cheek on shoulder.
“Beloved…” she whispered.
“I know,” he whispered, his features resigned and forlorn.
“A… child should also have an education,” Rylett said quietly. “You’ve been teaching her?”
“We’ve tried our best,” Turin said, tittering wryly. “But we know more about raising predators than raising… a girl.”
“She can write very well,” Braq said. “And she loves to read. I’m certain she’s been taking some of the more mature books we’ve been keeping from her.” He chuckled darkly. “She’s got a voracious appetite for knowledge. But we’re at a loss, to be honest. ”
“Then I’ll teach her myself,” Rylett decided, the parents looking up sharply. “I’ll visit once a week and see where we go from there.”
“No,” Turin said at once. “Th-thank you, but no. You would scare her.”
“Surely–” Rylett started, but Braq interjected, gripping his wife’s paw.
“Hold on, beloved,” he said, before turning back to Rylett. “A moment, Priestess.” Without waiting for her approval, he stood. Turin looked at him like he was mad but followed him from the room anyway, Imdi at her side. Through the frosted glass she could see them having a frantic conversation; not heated, just heightened, as though much depended on it. Turin splayed a paw on her partner’s chest, a vagrantly intimate gesture that made Rylett flush. Braq seemed to grab her by the shoulders then, his posture animated and pleading as he looked down at her. They love this girl, she knew then. Their love for her is written in everything they do. Their debate seemed to freeze, and the pair dropped down to eye level with their son. Turin nodded slowly behind the glass, before pressing her head to Imdi’s. When the family returned to the room they seemed frazzled, as though caught between two extremes. Turin stepped forward.
“You can tutor her digitally, not in person,” she said. “As I said, you will scare her for now, and she may reject the idea outright. But we’d love for you to teach her online.” A slight bit of warmth crept into her tone. Rylett thought the arrangement mighty strange as she stood from her desk.
“It would be much easier to do so in person…” she said. Braq nodded but remained steadfast with Turin.
“No doubt,” he said, leaning on the back of his chair. “But we must think about what she wants too. It’s digitally, or not at all.”
“I admire your conviction,” she said smiling, offering a bow. “I will do the best that I can.”
“I’m sure,” Braq said. “One condition: don’t mention her to anyone. Not a soul.”
“A-alright.”
“On your faith as a Priestess, I want your word.” The man’s still desperately afraid… Rylett noticed pursing her lips.
“I will tell no one, I promise.” That seemed to satisfy him, and he nodded at the floor. “Can I ask… what’s she like?”
“She’s… wonderful,” Turin said with a gentle smile. “She’s always been intelligent and curious. She loves the forest, keeps collections of rocks and leaves.”
“Ki-yu seems to have boundless energy.” Braq said thoughtfully, the same lightness in his eyes as when he looked at his son. “She has to get her paws on everything, figure out how it all works. And enthusiastic! Everything can be a game, and everything is interesting.” His eyes were distant. “She’s so… brave.”
“She helped me learn my letters,” Imdi squeaked quietly. “We play a lot.” For a family so intent on keeping this girl secret, they sure do love to talk about her. Braq coughed and stood.
“I’ll have to work on the signal array,” he announced, “we’re quite remote.” Rylett scribbled down her contact details on a scrap piece of paper.
“Take whatever time you need,” she said. Braq’s paw gripped her own as she offered it to him, the paper scrunching between their claws.
“Thank you, Priestess. For listening.”
“Of course, and… call me Rylett.” The Priestess looked at the little boy with his scarred lip, his caramel fur so much like his mother’s. “I’m sorry if I frightened you Imdi.”
“Promise you won’t hurt her?” he whispered from his mother’s arms. Rylett plucked up the books from the desk and offered them to him.
“I promise,” she said earnestly. Imdi took the books from her. Turin and Braq shared one last look and headed for the door. Turin turned back to her as they went through the doorway, Braq’s wide frame silhouetted behind her.
“I’m… sorry about your partner.” she said slowly. “And your boy… I can’t imagine…” My darling tumbles in tatters out of the airlock, he is dead before he crosses the threshold.
“Carcos was a sweet boy, Praitor as loving a man as I could ever ask for.” Rylett said remotely, pushing her mind toward sunny days of fruit and play on their new garden world. “I remember how they lived more than how they died.”
“Is it true? You still love them?” Her eyes were intense, her voice soft as silk.
“Always,” Rylett told them and knew it to be true. Turin broke her gaze, nodding to herself.
“Goodbye, Rylett,” the mother said softly, swinging the door shut as she left. The parents’ figures were visible as darkened shadows against the glass as they stepped away.
So, Imdi does have a sister. The name is… odd, but I don’t think she’s in any immediate danger. And the parents… they seem willing to do much to protect her. Rylett’s head swam, awash with this strange revelation that mingled with notes familiar and bittersweet. The Priestess felt like she had dug one tunnel at the cost of three others, she stood and closed the blinds on her window. Why did Yotun react that way in the fight? Had he seen the girl, and caused Imdi offense? But then, why would he insist that Imdi had not said he has a sister? She sighed into her paws. Thank The Protector that’s done with. Time for bed.
Rylett was the last person in the building it seemed at this late hour, save perhaps the custodian. She stopped by the hall to blow out the last of the candles sitting around the dais. Rylett had always appreciated how from the back of the hall The Protector had seemed the most imposing of the three figures, her statue angled to obscure the others from view. But for the first time, she considered the absence of Ki-yu from the podium, his removal from Kay-ut’s left hand to instead be taken up by the speaker. Would the All-Mother not prefer her son to a High-Priest? She blew out the candle and headed for the door.
Outside, the night air was biting, the shrill voice of a light wind kicking at the trees. Rylett looked up as she crossed the poorly lit courtyard. A few stars twinkled between the clouds, as well as the smooth surface of Ki-ra, luminous and stable, hanging high above. On the horizon to the north Ki-yu was obscured by a dim black fog, his radiance licking at the night.
“The sin was the desertion of a child.” Rylett whispered under her breath.
Are you here to hurt us, Ki-yu? she wondered as she beheld the dark thing. Or did we hurt you?
---
Along the shore the cloud waves break,
The twin suns sink behind the lake,
The shadows lengthen
In Carcosa.
Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies,
But stranger still is
Lost Carcosa.
Songs that the Hyades shall sing,
Where flap the tatters of the King,
Must die unheard in
Dim Carcosa.
Song of my soul, my voice is dead,
Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed
Shall dry and die in
Lost Carcosa.
– ‘Cassilda’s Song’, in The King In Yellow. R.W. Chambers. 1895.