Ki-yu, the huntress.

Date [standardised human time]: June 30th, 2123

(13 years, 2 months before the invasion of the radji Cradle).

“How’s it look?” Ki-yu asked, her voice muffled slightly by the fabric.

“Horrifying,” Imdi giggled, quickly becoming a gaggle as it echoed about her cool den. She tried to swat him with her tail, forgetting that she had it curled about her middle, the real appendage unable to fit in the sewn shut facsimile. Still, she supposed that it would have drawn attention if the tail could move.

“I feel silly,” she grumbled, feeling around the plush headpiece. “The snout is all wrong, and my teeth don’t stick out like that!”

“I think we’ve captured the likeness,” Yotun said, clearly trying to hide a laugh.

“It was the best we could do on such short notice,” Imdi said, not trying to hide a thing. Ki-yu peered out of the eye holes at her reflection. The costume was large and baggy, a clumsy, gaudy thing. The grey fabric they used had been cheaply made, making it warm and heavy. The paws on both hands and feet were adorned with long plastic claws, far longer than her real ones, and the soles had to be sewn shut to stop her real feet from sticking out. The headpiece had been filled with plastic wiring to give it shape, but the sharp corners dug into her face, so she had ripped it all out. The result was that the tip of the strangely flat snout drooped slightly, as though the monster were always glum. Ki-yu stared at the old, spotted mirror for a long moment, wondering if this was what they had always seen. The pyq costume looked back at her, baggy and depressed.

“This is a terrible idea,” she told them, fiddling with the large buttons that joined its front. They had put too much effort into the costume, she thought, even giving it pockets. Imdi stood back a step.

“Maybe a little wider around the middle?” he said.

“You’re right, she’d look too thin,” Yotun said, crouching down to stuff more padding into the costume’s already plump mid-section.

“Don’t really have any better ideas,” her brother told her. “Everyone in school will be there. We need your nose to sniff them out.” Ki-yu held open the mouthpiece so she could stick her actual snout out. The fresh air was a cool relief.

“Well, it’s no good trapped in all this fabric,” she grumbled. Yotun pulled a face, then rubbed at his eyes.

“Uh, let’s not do that,” Imdi said, her nose being pressed flat against his sweaty paw as he pushed her head back. She gave that paw a quick, gentle bite in retribution, enough to sting but not enough to draw blood. “H-hey!” Imdi exclaimed, shaking the bitten limb. “What gives?!”

“Never getting used to that…” Yotun muttered as he worked.

“Keep your dirty paws off my nose,” Ki-yu huffed, “you know I can smell wherever they’ve been!” Ki-yu stripped the headpiece from her snout, tossing it at him, pulling apart the buttons to drop the rest in a heap as she stalked away. She stomped over to her bedding, curling up atop it.

This’s stupid, she told herself. The costume, the ‘plan’ if one could even call it that. She did not even really know what she would be searching for. Imdi seemed to think the scent would be obvious to her, but the wind from the city to the north always stunk of smoke. One arsonist could blend in quite well. What has my brother gotten me into?

She heard him stop a step away.

“Hey Ku? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Is it the costume?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said quickly. “It’s just… uncomfortable is all. Don’t see why you’d dress up like this.”

“Well, it’s a special day,” her brother said. “It’s just a bit of fun, right?”

“Fun?” Ki-yu’s taste in fun was very different, it seemed.

“It’s rare for a perigee to fall in spring,” Yotun said from a distance, still crouching over the costume. “Draws the season out, gives us more time to grow crops and stuff. Mum and Dad have been working overtime harvesting.”

“Oh,” she said, supposing that was a good thing. “I don’t really think about that kind of thing very often.”

Her brother sat beside her, looking down at his feet pensively.

“Look… we don’t have to do this,” he said. She rolled her eyes.

“Little late to run home now,” she said, her head lying flat on her paws.

“So, you think it’s the best idea?”

“I think it’s the only idea. So… yes, I guess.”

“There we go,” Yotun said, stuffing the costume back into his pack. “I think that’ll do. I’d better be going if I want to be back in time. Don’t want to worry my parents.”

“We don’t have much time either,” Ki-yu replied. “Alright walking on your own?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, crouching through the cave’s opening. The siblings shared a glance before following. Their friend had seemed… frustrated since his return from the facility, saying very little of what happened there.

The sky outside was a late pink, long shadows leaping from peak to peak to darken the slopes of snow-capped mountains. Little touches of green seemed almost dark blue in this afternoon light. A dampness hung in the air, the promise of petrichor in the loam of the foothills failing to totally smother the slightest hint of ash to the northeast.

“How’re you getting around your parents?” Imdi asked Yotun as he joined them.

“They’re visiting some friends on the other side of the valley,” he replied. “I said I wanted to catch up on studying.”

“So, you’ll be able to…”

“I’ll be there,” Yotun said, a mild smile breaking through him for a moment. “Can’t say they’ll be too impressed when they get back.”

“Are… are you sure about this?” Ki-yu asked.

“I’m sure,” he said, shouldering his pack. “Well, it’s a long walk. I’ll see you guys tonight.” The young man sniffed at the darkening clouds, gave them both a nod, and turned for home. Ki-yu found herself perching on the lip of rock, watching him disappear along the path into the east.

“Ki-yu?” Imdi said, shaking her.

“Hm?”

“You alright?”

“Yes,” she said, chittering a little. “I… just feel like I’ve been here before. C’mon, let’s get home.” The two followed the trail downhill, then turned west for the lower forest.

The walk was long and sombre, but that gave them time to think as they trudged downhill. Both of her parents had been in something of a dark mood since the fire, not that she blamed them. She had not seen them so distressed since they had been forced to smuggle her out to the lighthouse in the pre-dawn gloom.

Turin had been quick to bar the children from going out into the woods lest some trespassers see them—or rather Ki-yu specifically. The pyq had said that was rather silly; Imdi should not have to stay indoors just because she was made to, and she would hear and smell anyone coming long before they noticed her. Mama had eventually relented, though that only seemed to darken her mood. Ki-yu understood her mother’s caution, but it filled the girl with more concern for her than she had for the woods—which was no small measure. Mama spent most of her days working on the vexise and monitors, muttering angrily about the animals under her breath. But the stiplet numbers had finally shown some sign of relenting amid the predators’ bloody work, and that left her back at home where she pottered about, her eyes drifting to the camera feeds more often than not.

Baba meanwhile had taken to long walks out where the forest met the road, rifle slung low across his scarred back. Ki-yu was not sure if he hoped to catch the perpetrator returning to try again or was looking for some sign of life in the twisted and blackened habitat. On the odd occasion that she was allowed to join him he seemed mellow and quiet. Perhaps he knew what her nose told her: this place was dead. Not death in the still warmth of meat, nor even the acrid reek of rotting flesh; what is rot, after all, than a new gasp of life? No, this… this place was lifeless like old rocks. Dead like a dry wind. It was a desolate, snuffed out place, with nothing more than the bitter taste of ash. It was not a smell one soon forgets. She was glad for Baba’s company, and she sensed he was grateful for hers too.

It was that dead patch of tree-corpses that had convinced her of the urgency of her brother’s ‘plan’, such as it was. It was not like they were doing anything wrong really, they were just visiting the festival. She had to admit to feeling a certain trepidation at the prospect. Imdi and Yotun were going, why not her? And if they happened to find some clue of who burned the forest, well, that was hardly a bad thing was it? Ki-yu shook her head of the notion as she walked; she knew that they were up to no good. It was not a great idea to get on their parents’ bad side right now, but Ki-yu did not really see much of a choice. Someone had burned the forest, her forest. Could it have been the tall man, Juran, with his pale eyes and soft voice? The fact that they had not seen nor heard of him for years struck Ki-yu as odd, especially since he had tried so hard to ensnare them. Or maybe Teraka if he still lived? Baba had been tight lipped about their last conversation, but he also had good reason to hate the place where his daughter died.

Ki-yu was surprised when the smell of cooking smoke reached her, finding that they had made it down into the forest proper in record time. Her brother had not said a thing the whole descent, and that was unusual in and of itself. He used to complain about his legs when he was a little boy, and she would be made to carry him on her back. He was now growing too heavy for such a feat to be so easy, strong as she was. That made her sad. Without saying a word Ki-yu slunk back a step behind where he trudged and, throwing her long neck low, slid him over her shoulders and onto her back. He made a noise of fright, which led into a moment of silence before he laughed and wrapped his arms around her neck for balance. He was heavier, but it was good mischief. She padded them the rest of the way home.

Ki-yu braced herself as they crossed the threshold, knowing what awaited within. Of late she had learned to shut her ears, to listen without hearing to the long list of criticism. Mama complained about the muck on their paws as soon as she saw them, sending Imdi to wash before he left. Ki-yu almost escaped notice but, threatened with a bowl of cold water, scrubbed her paws off in the washbasin as quickly as she could.

She returned to the living room with her bow, hoping the playing would ease her nerves. Baba was sitting in his chair by the workbench, his sonophone flat across his lap. Ki-yu set down her own instrument before her on the couch, careful not to disturb him. The sonophone was a large instrument, but Braq was a large man. The girl watched his big, calloused paws work deftly out of the corner of one eye. He gently unscrewed the cap from one of the brass rings, setting it down beside two others on the workbench.

“Imdi spitting in it again?” she asked, a string twanging as she un-nocked it from her bow. Braq smiled, giving her a warm look as he threaded a cloth down and through the wood.

“Not as much,” he said. “The brass just needs polishing every now and then. How are the wires sounding over the hair?” Ki-yu plucked at the still attached strands, with their sharp, metal touch, sound, and taste.

“It helped, but it still doesn’t sound quite right.”

“I’m telling you your teeth probably aren’t doing the wood no good,” he chuckled.

“I don’t mean to bite so hard,” Ki-yu muttered. “I try not to…” She ran her thumb over where a tooth had nicked the bow’s grip, wondering if her father’s instrument had once been so simple and crude. Baba stopped for a moment. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s not about how it looks. It’ll be fine so long as you treat it with a little kindness.” He pulled the cloth out, the sonophone hooting softly as he blew across its lip. He smiled, replacing the brass cap.

Together they pulled apart and re-strung the bow. It had become a little project between them, something they both kept thinking about. Getting the sounds just right was rather fiddly work, and it never lasted very long. The length of each string had to be precisely cut, but still only ever made a harsh, tinny sound. She needed a way to soften the sound, but also to amplify it. It was such a puzzle that she almost forgot about their impending escapade when Imdi ran up the hall in his costume. The boy had draped a short mauve cloak with gold trim across his shoulders, a crown of half-whittled sticks about his head. He also seemed to have jammed small twigs into his fur, many still sporting leaves. It was nowhere near as intricate as her costume, but they needed an excuse for all their craft supplies.

Mama did not seem impressed. Clucking about him and trying to brush the self-inflicted tangles and knots from his fur, she pressed him on every part of the night, that they were to listen to Arrut the whole time and be back before mid-eve.

“What’s he… meant to be?” Baba asked, scrutinising the boy with a bemused eye.

“The Merry King, I think, from the book we’ve been reading.”

“Must be a good book to make him sit still,” he chuckled. “When was Arrut coming to collect him again?”

“Sundown,” she said. “I-I think.” Baba nodded as he worked, seeing the way she fidgeted with her claws.

“I’m… sorry you can’t go with him.”

“Really?” she said carefully.

“Of course. Say, why don’t we play a game tonight?”

“Oh, I was hoping to go out into the woods. The air’s still warm and fresh.”

“Are you sure?” The confusion in his hazel eyes was only there a moment before he buried it below a well-measured smile, but it still made her heart ache. “I was going to suggest we find the buro board, wherever you hid it.” Damn it.

“I don’t remember…”

“It’s buried in the woods isn’t it?”

“I haven’t eaten in a couple of days,” she lied. Her father shifted in his seat, running a rough paw across a rougher jaw.

“…the fire still?” he asked. She nodded, looking down at her sharp claws. At least that was only half a lie. “Well, I… I don’t blame you. But you–”

“I need to eat, I know!” She bit into the words, heated to be so close to the lie. Baba looked at her for a long moment, his eyes now searching and curious.

“You haven’t been so snippy for a long while,” he chuckled.

“I’m not ‘snippy’,” she said indignantly.

“Hm. Don’t tell me you’re growing up already? You didn’t hatch that long ago, surely?”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Baba–”

“Oh, my little girl,” he sniffed, throwing up his paws dramatically. “Growing up too fast!”

“Oh, shut up!” she laughed.

“We’ll have to start teaching you about boys and girls soon.”

“Baba! Don’t be gross!”

“It’s important that you learn the ins and outs of–”

“That’s it, I’m going out!” she huffed, sliding off the couch, and trying not to hurry to the door.

“Be careful,” Baba called after her with the last of his laugh, Ki-yu trying not to think of her mistruth as a betrayal. Ki-yu gave Imdi the briefest nod as she passed, slinking out of the back door and out into the woods. Just in case Mama was watching from the window she padded out to the treeline then doubled back, moving silently back to where the grasses, overgrown from the spring rains, spread out around the property. Her body pressed low into the grass, listening to their gentle rustle, her eyes drinking in the ebbing light. The lodge looked like a cosy little cottage from where she sat, soft shapes moving before the warm glow of the windows casting long shadows across the yard. The girl had half a mind to go back inside, to be nice and warm and innocent.

She did not have to wait long. The hovercar descended like a screaming ball of fire, Ki-yu suddenly doubting her choice of pilot. But the craft slowed quickly, the firing jets casting blinding sputters of pale light and shade. Ki-yu blinked the white spots from her eyes as the craft idled down to a mild whine. Yotun quickly hopped out, leaving the door open as planned as he crossed the yard. Ki-yu only had to walk in. Or… she could still stay put. She could find something to eat, then play board games with Mama and Baba, maybe think of a song. But there would not be anything to eat without the forest, no one to look after her without Mama and Baba.

Ki-yu pushed forward, slinking as close to the ground as she could. She was relying on her dark scales to hide her from shadow to shadow. The electric dash between cover, so common in a hunt, spurred her on. In but a moment she was up in the craft, curling up on the backseat. The pyq costume had been left a crumpled heap in the footwell. She heard voices and peered over the edge of the seat. Braq’s silhouette filled the doorway, Yotun laughing something about his dad waiting in the car. A bold lie, one she might not have been able to say. Imdi squeezed past him, Baba stopping him for a pat on the back and a word, but otherwise they were not impeded.

Yotun eyed Imdi’s costume as they got in.

“What’re you supposed to be?” he asked him.

“Never mind that, get us out of here!” Ki-yu hissed as quietly as she could.

“R-right,” he stammered, flicking his claws at the dashboard as a wheel of dials and symbols flashed into life. The whole craft rumbled and shook as though buffeted by winds.

“So, uh, how many times have you flown this thing?” Imdi asked.

“Oh… you know,” Yotun said. “Once or twice. B-but Dad says I’m a fast learner!”

“Wonderful,” Ki-yu mumbled from the backseat. Yotun quickly eyed her for a moment.

“Is she alright?”

“Ku hates flying,” Imdi told him.

“No,” the girl grumbled, “it’s just I prefer to be on the ground.”

“I’ve seen you jump between woodwaifs,” Imdi said. “What’s the problem with a nice safe hovercar?”

“A tree doesn’t go anywhere,” Ki-yu huffed. “It’s the landing that– woah-!” She barked sharply as the car lifted then lurched sharply to the right, pirouetting slowly. Yotun was offering apologies, saying something about the primary starboard stabiliser, but all Ki-yu could see was the rapidly approaching fence line.

“Fence!!” she barked. “Fence!” Yotun cursed, his paws spinning across the controls. Just as Ki-yu thought they were doomed to crash, there was a burst of thrust from below and the vehicle shot upward, lifting them away. She suffered a welling of vertigo as her face was pushed flat against the cold glass of the window for a moment, the pyq costume leaping up before her in the cramped, spinning cabin. Imdi was being pulled part way from his chair, when Yotun, deftly inputting three precise commands, halted their spin. One of Imdi’s twigs snapped audibly as they fell back into their seats, Ki-yu panting on her back as the car hovered in place.

Yotun pressed flat his crest.

“See,” he said. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“Belt,” Imdi muttered. “Seat… belt.” The girl righted herself, sticking her snout beside Yotun’s head.

“Just… get. Us. There.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Flying’s the easy part.” Ki-yu slumped back into her seat, eyeing the crumpled costume Yotun had tossed onto the backseat.

~*~

To the west over the dark expanse of the sea, Kay-ut’s pyre spread the last of its light in a ball of shimmering orange. Ki-yu had not seen a sundown over the sea in years, the sight filling her with a strange nostalgia. How beautiful it was to watch that great ball of fire sink beneath the distant waves. The sun dipped beneath the horizon, the sky outside keeping the last of its reddish glow like the last dying ember.

Approaching Bendara by air was much faster than by groundcar. Were it day, a swath of colourful crops would be shooting by far below them, but now all she could see was her breath frosting against the growing darkness. Then there was a dot of light, winking out of existence as quickly as it had first appeared. She blinked and the dot returned, drifting away far below them. Ki-yu watched it for a long time, trying to work it out. Then there was another further along, and as the girl followed their line she realised she was watching cars travel the winding road along the coast. A great constellation slowly coalesced, straight and crossing lines, dotted here and there by roving points of light. Each one was a car, or a home, or at the very least a lamppost, but she could not help but think of them as little stars. There must have been thousands. She felt as if she were an astronaut.

And in the distance, ships bobbing in the blackened waves beside it, Bendara City rose. Plastered in her mind was that sunny day so long ago, the city a bright and sparkling gem in the daylight, a beacon of radjikind. But now, at dusk, it was naught but a great shadowy monolith. The last glow of the sun gave it the look of the burning stump of some vast felled tree. Great spotlights sparked to life on the inner city’s walls, lighting the column of glass and metal high into the sky. Light and shadow, she thought with a shudder, the memory of ash strong in her mind.

“Hm, I’m not used to seeing it all at night,” Yotun said, peering out of his window. “I think it’s down… there somewhere…”

“You can get us down, right?” she asked.

“Oh sure, landing’s the easy part,” he said.

“I thought flying was the easy part?” Imdi asked. Yotun’s chuckle did not inspire confidence as the car more fell than hovered toward the ground. Ki-yu tried not to cough up her last meal as the ground rushed toward them far too quickly. Her stomach lurched as the jets suddenly fired, slowing their descent as the car floated over a narrow strip of tarmac near a large older looking set of buildings.

“Ah, I see,” Yotun murmured to himself, steering them over a wide stretch of tarmac where other vehicles had arrested themselves in favour of a smaller inlet. Ki-yu glimpsed an L-shaped structure lit in the night before they were piloted over the outer wall. The landing was, surprisingly, graceful. Yotun looked quite pleased with himself —or perhaps relieved— as the vehicle alighted onto its landing props, but Ki-yu only saw him press one button and suspected that the car had done most of the work.

The craft had settled down primly at the edge of the road, a narrowly paved path adjoining a thick wall of old cobbled rock on one side. The street seemed penned in, despite how wide it actually was, as though each small patch of land were precious. There were no trees here, but its age was betrayed by the small patches of unmolested green scattered across the pavers. This was not the new world of glass and metal she had seen shimmering on the horizon, but one that had let the moss grow on old stones.

And moving about were… people. Actual people, going about their actual lives. Ki-yu ducked down as someone passed by her tinted window, knowing that they could not see in, but flinching all the same. They would have looked so wonderfully ordinary were it not for their state of dress. Many, mostly children, were wearing elaborate costumes in unfamiliar shapes and styles. One girl was wearing a sash of a bright sky blue, skipping happily as a man with a great beard of fur who must have been her father held her hand. A boy had brightly painted quills, and another was wearing some elaborate wooden mask thrice the size of his own head. She watched them slip by like dry leaves in the current.

“Ki-yu?” someone said, pulling her eyes from the window. Both the boys were watching her carefully.

“Hm?”

“Best be getting dressed,” Imdi said. Trepidation bubbled within her for a moment, as a couple stopped and laughed beside their car. It’s one thing to see the river, she thought as they moved on, and another to swim in it. She shook herself and reached for the crumpled costume.

“Alright,” Yotun said as she dressed, “let’s do this quickly. Get Ki-yu in. If she smells anything, grand, if not we’re out of here.”

“This could be our only chance,” Imdi said. “We should try and cover as much ground as possible.”

“Won’t matter if we get caught,” Yotun replied. “We’ll take no risks, right Ki-yu?”

“I… I guess,” she mumbled doing up the last of the buttons.

“If we get separated we’ll meet back here, okay?” She nodded, trying to shake out the nerves.

“Here we go,” Imdi muttered. The door slid open, and both boys stepped out. The cool air hit her, a flurry of the city’s sooty smell and the soft touch of distant music. But there was also something else: a murmuring, a shuddering like the great gust of wind in high places, and she realised with a start that what she heard was in fact many voices, far too many to recognise, talking and laughing all at once. The sound was so overwhelming, so foreign, Ki-yu felt a tightness in her chest. It was a battle just to find her breath again. She looked down at the pyq mask. Oh, this is so stupid! she realised. Give me a brynn any day. Imdi got back in the hover car, sitting beside her.

“What’s wrong?” he said quietly.

“So… so many… I can’t–”

“You’ve dealt with so much worse than a few people, Ku.”

“It’s not just a few people!” she hissed. “It’s… it’s people! They can’t see… they wouldn’t understand!” Imdi screwed up his face.

“That’s why we’re here, we need to solve this.”

“Why’s that up to us? Can’t we just stay home?”

“Ki-yu, someone came into our home and set it on fire. They burned it.”

“I know that-!”

“Then why don’t you want to do something about it?!” her brother snapped. Yotun coughed pointedly, the siblings falling into a sullen silence at the approach of some passers-by.

“I don’t like it when you cry,” Imdi said at last. “I don’t want you to cry. I… I wish I could be strong like you…” Ki-yu fidgeted with plastic claws.

“Of course, I want to do something,” she said. “But… just what can I do? I won’t risk you for anything, not even the forest.”

“But… no. You’re right,” he said. “This’s… we can go home.”

“N-no,” she whispered. “You’re right, this’s important.” Ki-yu looked over at her brother, with his crown of forest wood and twigs in his hair. He looked like someone had thrown him through a bush. The thought made her smile. She held up the mask. “Dare me,” she whispered. He looked up at her, eyes alight with mischief. Imdi stepped out of the car, and said, “Alright, I dare you.”

Ki-yu pulled the mask over her head and stepped out onto the street.

She looked down at the pavement. The feeling was softened slightly by the faux paws, but it felt strange. Too firm, too flat. She turned to Imdi, finding him —of all people— anxiously glancing about.

“We’re… so grounded!” she sniggered. The snigger became a mild cackle, and she had to fight to contain her decidedly un-radji laughter.

“Ssh!” Imdi hissed, incredulous but grinning as she leant on his shoulder. The laughter felt good. They collected themselves and started toward the school gates.

Ki-yu felt woefully exposed but try as she might she could not walk normally. Without her tail out behind her she was rather unbalanced. Each step threatened to make her topple unless she leaned forward, the result making her leer headfirst as she skulked about. They passed by a man coming the other way, Ki-yu pushing herself flat against the wall. Her breath catching as he passed unbearably close. To her surprise did not react, just gave them a polite nod and kept walking. The others lead the way as she recovered from that encounter. It was at this moment that she realised she could barely smell the cool night air within the mask. It was a completely blinding experience, not to know the world about her. Ki-yu was about to comment on this when, nearing the school gate, a woman stepped out at the same moment, almost colliding with them. The radji jumped backward a step, pulling the child who’s paw she held backward with her. Ki-yu also near jumped out of her scales, just managing to keep her silence.

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“Oh, g-gracious!” the woman stammered. “You kids gave me a fright!”

“Sorry,” Yotun said, quickly but subtly interposing himself. “Didn’t see you there.” The woman’s eyes leapt to him for but a moment before lingering on Ki-yu. The girl shivered in her warm costume, not meeting her gaze.

“You like our costume?” Imdi asked. Ki-yu wanted to throttle him.

“It’s… distinctive,” she tutted, shaking her head.

“What is it mummy?” the toddler said.

“It, uh… it’s a monster dearest,” she said. “Just a silly costume.” The woman shook her head again at the kids up to no good and she set off down the road. Ki-yu rocked on her feet for a moment, remarking to herself how the woman could not possibly know how much her words stung. Yotun leaned on the gate to steady himself.

“Goddess,” he muttered, “that felt strange.” Imdi put a paw on Ki-yu’s arm.

“You okay?” her brother asked her.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “Let’s get this over with.” Cornering her courage, she walked through the archway and into the schoolyard.

The courtyard was a mostly vacant lot, a thin strip of trees guarding the perimeter wall. Nearby a long stone building had been half swallowed by the ground, the school proper she supposed. A few people milled about, no one paying them much notice; most were moving toward the far end where large stalls and tarps had risen. Ki-yu went still as the source of all that noise became apparent. The girl could count on both paws the number of people she had ever seen before, count on one all she had ever spoken to. But before her now were dozens of people. A terrified part of her wanted to know them all.

“Anything?” Imdi asked beside her. She swallowed her irritated growl.

“I can’t smell anything except your mucky paws in this damn suit!”

“Might be a problem,” Yotun said. “Kind of defeats the point if she can’t smell anything.” Imdi chewed at his lip for a moment, looking far younger than he actually was.

“We’ve put all this effort into getting here, we can’t just leave now,” Ki-yu sighed, tossing her head in the direction of the crowd.

At the outskirts of the market the stalls were lined with many kinds of foods. Rows of violet, yellow-green, and strange wrinkled-blue fruits were being readily devoured by the roving mass of fairgoers. The winding network of roots from one single tree had been pulled from the ground and upended, people gathering to collect cuttings and roast them over the nearby fire. Immeric Yotun called it, saying that the tastiest —and most costly— roots were always closest to the stump. The more it was cut, the more expensive it became. The sight of a full barrel of sylphberries was enough to make Ki-yu salivate. It was a display of plenty.

The people here were all radji, and yet they were all strange and alien to her. There were cream-coloured people with a great volume of fur, and smooth, almost slick dark-furred folk. People with flat snouts and long pinched ones. Some wizened old crones shorter than she cackled behind yellow teeth. Young lads as tall as Baba, face’s flush from rolling a dozen empty barrels out before a podium grinned to one another.

To her immense surprise no one really seemed to react to her. In fact, her own grey suit seemed rather drab in comparison. People moved about, draped in more colours of hide and cloth than she had seen before. A young woman was selling jewellery at one stand, with rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, and a thin metal bar through the bridge of her nose. At one bench nearby the young girl with her cerulean sash stood on a stool, threading beads into the fur of her father’s face, the man doing his best to hide the pained tears her tugging produced. Ki-yu was so absurd in her dress that she fitted right in, and in that moment she felt safe in her skin for the first time in forever. The world seemed to spin around her as she took it all in.

Many had gathered around a large platform that was handing out warm drinks to jolly patrons, distilled from a great brass tank. The only scent she could even take was the faintest hint of the heady spices being drizzled, shaken, and tarred onto the roasted fruits and berries. Still, it was all so rich and vibrant, Ki-yu had to fight the urge to rip her mask off just to smell it all.

“Wow,” she said breathlessly, “you guys go here every week?!”

“It’s not normally like this,” Imdi told her. “Less market, more kids.”

“More kids?!” The two tried to hush her, but she had already turned away. “What’re they handing out?” she asked, pointing to the pouches a hearty-looking woman was passing around.

“Seedlings,” Yotun said, “to plant for the next harvest. Planting forward.” The woman, seeing her gesture, held up a bag and shook it invitingly. Yotun quickly put down Ki-yu’s arm, smiling apologetically and turning her away. “The less attention we draw–“ he began to whisper, but stopped as two young boys ran up to them, an older woman leaning so heavily on a cane it seemed to bend.

“Boys, get–!” She stopped short.

“Wow, gross!” one said, pointing right up in Ki-yu’s face. The other darted behind her, chewing on a piece of fruit as he went.

“Oh, that’s so realistic!” he said through a mouthful. “Look-!” The boy tugged on her tail so hard that, had it been real, Ki-yu would not have restrained herself from yelping. The woman, breathless, grabbed the two boys and pulled them away.

“’Nough of that,” she sniffed, pushing the boys along. She spared a hard look at the three of them. “You should be ashamed of yourselves,” she said curtly, and stepped away.

“You okay?” Imdi asked.

“Y-yes,” she lied, not wanting to ruin the fun she had been having a moment before. “Let’s keep going.”

The deeper into the festival they went, the more elaborate it became. Across the green’s length, two great beige canopies had been erected. Bright ribbons and streamers hung in long arcs across wooden beams, lit by gentle electric lanterns humming with a soft orange light. People moved about lit in warm tones, stopping by other stalls and stands, or gathering to laugh and drink at scattered tables and benches. A large space had been left strangely bare in the tent’s mid-point, save a raised platform with a pair of stools and a solitary sonophone in one corner. The green before it was matted flat from far too many feet, the noise of so much talk and movement like a roar. It was, to Ki-yu’s eyes, not at all dissimilar to the forest, with great thick trunks of wood supporting a stretching canopy.

Beside one such tentpole were two boys of such disproportionate height and demeanour as to be almost comical. The bigger boy was stocky, with a heavyset face and broad nose, the kind made for grimaces, grumbles, and absorbing heavy strikes. Yet he looked about the crowd with a cheerful, friendly expression, his two solid arms crossing across his chest as he leaned fashionably against the tentpole. Sitting by his feet was a much, much smaller lad. The tawny cherub sat sullen and pouting with one paw supporting his chin against his knee. He looked miserable. What’s more, he was watching them intently. Ki-yu gave Imdi a nudge.

“Who’s that?” she asked. Imdi glanced over his shoulder.

“Shit, that’s two of the kids we got in the fight with.” Yotun rubbed at his nose.

“We’d best avoid th–” he started, but half turning saw that they were now coming toward them. “Shit,” he said under his breath, pretending to notice them. “Hey guys! Enjoying the festival?”

“Didn’t think to see you here,” the smaller one said. “Who’s that in the lizard costume?”

“Oh, uh, Roklin this’s…” Yotun said slowly.

“This’s my cousin,” Imdi said. “Kira.”

“You’ve got a cousin?” said the one they had called Roklin.

“Kira is holy name,” the bigger boy said in a strange, thick accent. Roklin rolled his eyes, looking at him as though he were an idiot.

“Have you seen Erryt at all, Urèd?” Imdi asked him. The boy shrugged.

“No, why?”

“Oh, uh… I dunno,” her brother said. “Just wanted him to meet Kira is all.”

“Don’t speak much, huh?” Roklin said, addressing her directly. Ki-yu shrugged.

“She’s foreign,” Imdi offered.

“Hmph,” the little one grunted, looking him up and down. “And what’re you meant to be? The king of the twig-touchers?” If it were a joke, her brother did not seem to like it. Yotun scowled; even Urèd looked taken aback.

“Doon’t sayy that,” Ki-yu coughed, leaning up as tall as she could. The boy was so small she towered over him, but he did not seem impressed.

“Why not? Isn’t it true?” Her real snout crinkled beneath the plush exterior, letting out a breath of a growl. She half-stepped toward him, but Imdi grabbed her wrist. He looked at her pleadingly. Roklin tilted his head at her, shaking himself.

“Whatever,” he mumbled. “I’m done here anyway.” He gave them all one last look, then wandered off into the crowd.

“Don’t mind Roklin,” Urèd said. “He been sad since…” He gestured over his shoulder in the direction of the far end of the field. “His fancy won’t play with him no more.”

“’Fancy?’” Imdi murmured.

“Been weird for a little while,” Urèd continued unabated. “Assessments an’ all that, an’ with Oryn muckin’ about…”

“Oryn?” Yotun asked. The big lad looked around.

“Priest’s been on the warpath. Goin’ around talkin’ to people, confiscatin’ an’ the like.” Yotun frowned, giving Ki-yu a look.

The sound of a sonophone’s hearty half-heard horn rumbled across the tent, almost rising from the ground. On the platform a woman now blew down into a sonophone, her cheeks ballooning out as she puffed out a great brass tune of alternating notes. A man with slick cream fur beat some kind of instrument between his paws that rattled like a trapped knife. All around them people were moving toward the tent’s midpoint, pulled by some hidden current. Urèd’s broad face brightened in a moment.

“Come!” he said. “Dancing ‘bout to start!”

“N-n-n-!” was all she managed before, taking her wrist, the big lad dragged her into the throng of radji. Ki-yu discovered that the costume’s plastic claws were far poorer at digging into the dirt than her own. Several cheers went up as the tide of people burst out into the open space at the tent’s centre. To her horror everyone about the ring had turned about to watch the dance. One man downing a flagon took one look at her then quickly buried his snout in his paw, his fellows guffawing as he coughed up the drink upon the table. A few others pointed at her, many adults gawking. Ki-yu was filled with the certain notion that she needed to get out of there, but a dozen or more people had already filed onto the dancefloor. She glimpsed the two boys on the edge of the perimeter. Imdi was mouthing something unhelpful like ‘stay calm’, whilst Yotun was digging his paws through his scalp.

“Can you dance?” Urèd asked, oblivious. Ki-yu shook her head, not trusting her words. “It’s easy!” the boy chuckled as the jig began to rise. She looked about for a gap in the crowd, but so many people were pushing in and gathering around the perimeter she could not see an exit. The man with the rattling instrument stepped forward to cheers as he began to sing with a voice like sunlight.

“A lass I knew from the ol’ pontoon,” he sung.

“A lay, o limme a laya!” the crowd chorused.

“Talked in tongues o’ which no one sung.”

“A lay, o limme a lay!”

Ki-yu’s mind had nothing to contribute to this moment other than the fact that she had no notion of what dancing was or how to do it. Shit. All around her the people began to move in unison. Many looked clumsy or foolish, no two pairs moving quite the same. They threw out their legs and arms, skipping around one another. The myriad of strange adornments only accentuated the display. Ki-yu stood there dumbly, feeling like she were lost in a dream.

“Her voice were weak, nary a squeak,

Her tongue got tied in knots.

All the marimen laughed and called her daft, sayin,

‘She’ll waste her life by the docks!’”

Urèd, to his credit, was carrying his half of the performance, dragging his feet about the grass around her until they were green. He panted through a grin at her.

“C’mon, it’s all fun!” the big boy said. She shook her head. “Surely you can do something?!” Scowling, but seeing no alternative, Ki-yu tried to mirror his moves. At first she stumbled, overbalancing without her tail. Righting herself, she kept her eyes on her feet. Left… then right…

“But at her I’d stare, with her wild wild hair,

I’d have her at any cost.

But on the morn’ I tried, to my surprise,

I found my voice were lost!”

She had to watch herself, too nimble a leap would look odd. A step, then a jump. Move left… then right again.

“Tongue-tied, tongue-tied!

Couldn’t ask her if I tried!

And as rose the sea, she grinned at me,

And she said;

‘A lay, o limme a laya, love!

A lay, o limme a lay!’

Tongue-tied were we but runnin’ free!

‘A lay, o limme a lay!’”

Most radji gathered around the ring were now clapping to the beat, the whole fair seeming to move as one.

“Hey, you don’t dance bad!” Urèd said, and despite herself she chuckled in her mask.

“You’re… flat-footed!” she panted, making him throw back his head and laugh. She snickered too, throwing in an extra spin that felt good, even if she nearly toppled. Raucous laughter was gathering as the crowd cheered on the dancers. More than one were pointing at Ki-yu in particular.

“Tongue-tied! Tongue-tied!

Standing by her side.

Scream and shout, no words come out!

A lay, o limme a lay!

“‘A lay, o limme a laya, love!

A lay, o limme a lay!’

Tongue-tied were we, but runnin’ free!

‘A lay, o limme a lay!’

‘A lay, o limme a lay!’”

With one last bellow the song came to an end. The crowd was applauding, laughing, cheering. Ki-yu bent double, struggling to catch her breath in the stuffy costume. Urèd was laughing heartily despite being breathless himself. The sound of raucous laughter rose up around from the enheartened crowd, many of whom were now moving toward them. She looked about, seeing unfamiliar faces in garish costumes. Imdi and Yotun were nowhere to be seen. One reached for her head, the girl flinching away at the last moment. Panic gripped her as the paws grasped for her, patting her, laughing-!

It was all too much. She pushed through the crowd, diving under a table and scrambling on all fours for the edge of the stands. Someone yelped as she dove past their legs, leaping across a table covered in beads and ribbons, and under the tent’s edge into the open green beyond. There was no one about; they were all taking part in the festivities within. Ki-yu fell to her knees, allowing herself to part the mask for a moment. The fresh night’s air met her, a welcome relief. She felt lightheaded, her hands shaking.

“Who put you up to that?” a light voice asked from behind. Ki-yu quickly pulled down the mask finding a small radji a little younger than Imdi had followed her out. She had bright green ribbons tied in her fur and was looking up at Ki-yu expectantly.

“Uh…” she croaked. “Myy bro-ther.” The girl giggled.

“Can you even see anything in there?” she asked.

“N-not really,” Ki-yu said in a small voice, hoping the fabric would muffle her. The child tittered, tilting her head.

“You got something to plant yet?” Ki-yu shook her head, the panic of the crowd overcoming her again for a moment. I want to go home. “Here.” Her gaze fell back to the girl who was now holding out a seed pouch. Ki-yu looked from her to the pouch again, the child shaking it patiently.

“Oh,” she whispered, cupping out her hands. The girl dropped it into them.

“My mum gave me extra, and, well, you dance really pretty!”

“Th-thanks…” Ki-yu said. The girl ducked her fuzzy head with a happy expression.

“Happy festival!” she said. And then she turned away. Ki-yu watched her retreat into the tent again, then looked down at the pouch in her paws.

“Ah-heh,” she laughed to herself beneath the mask. She sniffed back the tears, holding it like a treasure to her chest. “Thanks… you too.”

Remembering that they had agreed to meet back at the car, Ki-yu looked over the rows of stalls and stands. Not feeling like running that gauntlet alone she decided to keep to the shadow of the sunken school, following it back the way she came. She was part of the way back when, jutting just above ground level, she spied a small window. It was an opening in the rough, ochre stone. Just a sliver, just a crack.

She looked in the direction of the car, then back to the school again.

A final glance about the area to be certain she was not watched, and a moment of courage were all it took. The window’s small size was no impedance; she had slipped through tighter nooks and crevices before. What she had not counted on was the desk littered with papers and utensils immediately below it, that she fell almost head over rear onto. It made such a racket she was certain everyone outside must have heard, but collecting herself she found she now occupied a small, mostly empty room. She dashed quickly to the door that sat ajar opposite the window, ensured there was no one in the hall beyond, then shut it swiftly. With the wood at her back she pressed her real nose out of the false mouth.

An unfamiliar world, only hinted at in those precious few she knew, blazed up her nares and into her mind. Three dozen different kinds of sweat, some thick and musty, others quiet and delicate, a few sweet and piquant. It reminded her of tears, how laughter could draw as many wet eyes as grief and loss and love.

It was beautiful.

But there was more. The sting of markers. The old pang of urine. Frail books, and thick glue, and the mild unfamiliar. Each one an old leaf dropped from different trees to mingle, lost and shared amongst the litter of life. And… something else. Something… foreign… alien, not just to her, but to the world. It was the smell of something writ in a different pen. Ki-yu felt curiosity’s gentle fingers beneath her chin, turning her head. She circled the room three times over before being sure that it came from outside the room.

Carefully, she crept out into the hallway. Her sharp ears caught the faint hint of voices echoing up the hall, just audible above the thrum of the merriment outside.

She was far more comfortable with all of her paws on the ground, although her tail had long gone numb wrapped around her side. Her nose and ears led her through the winding maze of radji dug tunnels, passing old doors set in ricked wooden frames, until she arrived at a pair larger than the others. They sat wide open, affording her a view of the largest radji she had ever seen, lit in flickering candlelight. Too large in fact, too still; the visage of a woman, large and strong, draped in silver chainmail and violet fabric. These are gods, she realised. The Protector in purple, with Ki-ra to her right…

And at her feet was what she first thought to be a vyrryn. It looked like a terribly prim, fragile thing, like a sapling ready to be blown down by the lightest breeze. Its narrow wrists seemed too thin to support it; Ki-yu supposed it must have been stronger than it looked. It matched how Imdi had described the alien girl that had started the fight in the yard, Irimya. It—she—was speaking, her voice too low to hear. I should turn back…

Ki-yu crept through the doorway, slinking to the left at once. Only a few candles within were lit so she kept to the wall, keeping the benches and chairs between her and the alien. As she moved deeper into the room she could see three other immense statues on the dais, the largest one standing behind the first cloaked in white. The two others on either side were poorly lit, the rightmost leaning over something in its paws.

Ki-yu moved as softly as the suit would allow her. Those large ears were no doubt keen, with wide, prey eyes. She again was reminded of vyrryn, even if this alien had a stockier, more pronounced muzzle. That muzzle moved as it spoke, the words becoming clear as she snuck closer.

“Lannê djo imret het,” [Literal: “Here I want not [to] be,”] the creature whinnied. “Nang-jet ûmra djo unnæ.” [Literal: “Mindless/dumb stables I go [to] already.”] There was a shift in weight, a creaking in the floorboards, and the most distant statue moved. Ki-yu froze as the candlelight flickered across its living eyes, and she realised it was not radji shaped at all. For a brief panicked moment, she hunched down beneath a nearby table, thinking that a brynn had somehow stumbled into the city. And then it spoke.

“You are here,” it rumbled in clear kejdar, “because I’ve asked you to be. Is that not enough?” The not-a-brynn had a voice like a rockslide, its short russet hide stretched taut over rippling muscle. Pale patches dotted each rounded shoulder, mirrored trails of dappled light flowing down its sloping back. It had the same wide prey eyes; dark, watchful eyes that made her wish for her supple shadow scales over the sagging grey suit she wore. The spindly creature barely reacted to the colossus, tapping against the purple idol to listen to its wooden sound.

“Yręt amei djo,” [Literal: “Unfair unto me,”] the little one said, turning its long face away from the dais. In spite of the alien words Ki-yu was struck by how childish the spindle-creature sounded.

“Reality is rarely fair,” the elder said, the satellite-dish ears twisting about. “And speak the tongue, you need the practice.”

“Djo het.” [Literal: “Want not/Don’t need to.”]

“The translator will not always serve. So, in kejdar…?” Irimya stomped at the floor, letting out a defeated snort.

“Can’t I be helping you with the business, mother?” she said after a moment. “Shaking foal, I am not.”

“Daughter, you’re precisely where I need you to be.”

“Pardek taught me this stuff long ago! I’m… bored learning this silly little tongue. All I do is prance around these angę-noke [Literal: “spikey fossor/dirt-eater”], looking like–” The adults passive paw seized the younger’s wrist, forcefully pulling her up to balance on her toes. She did not cry out, even though her expression seemed pained.

“Talk like that shows that you have learned nothing at all,” the elder said in a voice so deep Ki-yu scarcely heard it. “We were lucky to find so ripe a deal here. Luck, girl, luck.” The younger alien twisted slightly in the elder’s grip.

“Grandfather a-always said there was no such thing,” she said through gritted teeth. The massive creature snorted.

“At least you recall some of his lessons,” she huffed, letting slip Irimya’s wrist. “For all the good it did him,” she added, the girl falling heavily on her thin legs. “Pardek always strained for fresher pastures, wandered as males are wont to do. But he wandered too far in the end, hrm?” Ki-yu watched Irimya’s ears droop as she righted herself. “Luck is not something to be counted on, it cannot be factored into any budget. The Consortium will not falter,” the mother continued heedlessly, rising up to place a massive hand on the shoulder of the Protector. “Iridians will seize upon any opportunity. But here? Here they have yet to form ranks, and here we make our stand. These negotiations are more than mere business, they are survival. And the key to that business’s success is in convincing these… angę-noke that we are worth their time. That we are good allies, not heedless, reckless foals starting fights.” Irimya stomped a hindfoot.

“The boy brought–!”

“Irimya, you forget yourself. I am matriarch.” The larger creature dropped herself heavily to all fours, one massive hand cupping the foal’s head with surprising delicacy.

“Come now daughter, we needn’t fight. Sometimes you make me think I bore a colt.” The matriarch flicked an ear, tossing her head with a shaking sigh. “Have you forgotten what befell our home?”

“No,” Irimya whispered, looking down at the wooden floors.

“Well then… you put your faith in me to build us a new herd. But without one I fear we will fare the same as your grandsire.” She tugged her daughters wandering head back up at her. “Butchered far from home.”

Something about the creature’s tone sent a new shiver down Ki-yu’s spine. I’ve lingered too long. Slowly, the girl started backing out from beneath the table. She did not notice the chair until she backed into it.

The two aliens froze at the screeching sound, their heads snapping around with perfect prey precision. Damar moved faster than Ki-yu would have believed for a creature so large. She barely had time to suck in a frantic breath before the large wooden table was ripped away as one might brush aside an errant branch.

“Mat uę–?!” [Literal: “What is–?!”] Ki-yu scrambled backward on her elbows, wild with fright before the giant. The naurets massive hand came down in a flash, gripping her ankle and spinning her to the base of the dais.

“Hjonè!” [A curse/exclamation of surprise] Irimya brayed, springing away. “M-mother what’re you doing?!” Ki-yu panted up at the idol of the Protector, with her strong shield and outstretched spear. Damar overtook her vision, as heated as a brynn bull in summer. Ki-yu found her voice had left her, as the hand came down again–!

Irimya stepped between them, planting one rounded hand onto Damar’s broad chest.

“Mother… Mother it’s alright. It’s just a costume.”

“I know what I see daughter,” she said brushing past her. Ki-yu found her voice.

“S-sorry!” she gasped meekly, scrambling back into the dais. “Iyy got lost, Iyy’ll b-be–”

“Lost? Lost beneath the woodwork, hardly…” The nauret snorted with head hanging low, her forelimbs set wide as she circled closer. Ki-yu felt again like she was staring down a brynn about to charge. “What’s your name, child?”

“K-Kira…” she choked out.

”Vergetrimming is no innocent act, Kira.”

“N-no,” Ki-yu stammered, not entirely sure what that meant. Damar scrutinised her carefully, pacing this way and that.

“Have you ever seen a pyq, child?”

“Iyy…” The syllable came out as a long wheeze.

“Of course not,” she huffed, pulling Ki-yu upright in one effortless gesture. “But I have.” The colossus stepped around her carefully. “Ugly, foul things. Sly of footing and dim of mind. They snicker and chitter to one another as they close in.” She put her muzzle down behind Ki-yu’s plush head. “Hhsss- Hhsss- Hhsst!” she tittered, a parody of her own laugh. “Hsk- Hsk- Hsk!” Ki-yu tried to turn away, but found herself rooted to the spot, too panicked to do naught more than tremble. “But it is not how they look, nor how they sound that is the worst thing, it is the smell. It seeps from them like–”

“Mother!” Irimya bayed. “Enough! You’re scaring them.”

“Good!” She grabbed Ki-yu by the shoulder. “They should know the fear that this– this thing–!”

“Unhand her!” The shout echoed around the hall, bounced between the wooden idols. Rylett all but ran forward, Yotun and Imdi quick on her heels as she flowed toward them without a moment’s hesitation. Ki-yu felt Damar’s fingers dig into her shoulder for a moment longer, something shifting in her wide-set eyes. Rylett dragged Ki-yu behind her, looking up into the giant’s face. “What’s the meaning of this?!” The nauret was not looking at her, staring down at her palm.

“Protector…” Damar said ponderously. She rubbed her thick, calloused fingers together. “Champion.” The alien looked down, meeting the Priestess’s gaze. “We were just admiring your gods when we caught this–” she gestured with a broad sweeping gesture, carefully measured to come within a hair’s breadth of backhanding Rylett, “–blasphemous thing hiding nearby.”

“Blasphemy? Blasphemy?! You would mishandle a child before our Goddess and call her blasphemer?!”

“What’re you teaching these children that they would wear the face of the enemy in such a sacred place? A pyq in flesh is a pyq at heart.”

“Her costume is in poor taste but that does not give you the right to terrorise her!”

“What would you know of such things?!” Damar snapped.

“More than enough!” Rylett snarled, showing the slightest hint of teeth. Damar stamped against the floorboards so hard Ki-yu heard them groan. The giant of a woman put her head forward, turning it at the last moment to look her in the eye. The Priestess did not flinch, staring back.

“Ah, Champion…” Damar rumbled. “…there you are.” She rolled back onto her massive hocks. “You might be the first of your kind to speak so plainly. Forgive me. This is your house, I should have sought you out instead of taking to pasture myself.” Rylett folded her paws.

“You should have. But your quarrel wasn’t with me, it was with her.”

“Do not try your luck,” the Matriarch said, eyeing Ki-yu as she paced past them. “Run along now,” she snorted. “Perhaps get something to eat. You are awfully scrawny.” The nauret swished her short tail behind her as she walked toward the doors.

Ki-yu nodded, somewhat dizzy, as Imdi asked if she was okay. Irimya still stood close by, watching them curiously.

“You know this Kira, Imdi?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Aren’t you all a little old for this?” she asked.

“It’s her first time in Bendara,” Yotun said. “W-we wanted her to join in.” The thin creature set her feet close, flicking an ear.

“I… I apologise for my mother’s candour. Matriarchs rarely socialise with their… inferiors.”

“I thought she was a diplomat?” Yotun said.

“Supposedly,” Irimya whinnied. There was a curt bellow from the hallway, the girl flicking an ear. “I’d best be going.” The alien glanced sheepishly at Ki-yu, placing a healthy distance between them as she passed. Her narrow feet echoed down the hall as she trotted away.

Rylett barely left time for relief to settle over them before snatching Ki-yu by the scruff of the neck, half marching, half dragging her from the room.

“I heard there was a dancing pyq at the festival,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I–” Ki-yu started.

“Not a bloody word.”

Pausing at every door she dragged Ki-yu down the halls, Imdi and Yotun trailing after them. The priestess only released Ki-yu when she found a room she apparently liked the look of — one with a sink, pantry, lockers, and comfortable low seats.

“Your parents are coming,” Rylett muttered, locking the door behind them. “Perhaps they’ll know what to do with the lot of you.” Yotun stepped forward.

“I’m sorry, but–” he began.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it!” she growled, shooting him a look that could have throttled him. “After everything, you’re still willing to go and do something so utterly mad?!”

“It wasn’t his idea!” Imdi half-yelled in his childish voice.

“Oh!” Rylett exclaimed, throwing up her paws dramatically. “Of course! Pray tell, little prince, what wonderful plan did you have in store?!” Imdi puffed out his chest, still not backing down.

“Someone stole his notebook–,” he thrust a paw at Yotun, “–and put it in the woods. The only chance they had was in the schoolyard, it had to be someone here!”

“So you thought the best thing to do was to bring her here, dressed like that?!”

“It worked!” Imdi squeaked. “Nobody cared!”

“No, nobody knew!” The Priestess jabbed a claw in his direction. “Nobody knows! Nobody here really understands because all they hear are ghost stories! If they saw what the pyq were, if they really knew–!” Her rage came out in a choked bark, the woman rounding on Ki-yu. “And you! You especially should have known better than to play monster!” Ki-yu slunk over to the couches, cringing at the memory of panicked terror on the woman’s face at first seeing her.

“She’s not–!” Imdi started, but Rylett grabbed his shoulder forcefully.

“She’s not!” she interjected, her face pained and pleading. “But they are! Goddess… they are!” Rylett slumped over him. She hid her eyes by pulling him close, but Ki-yu saw the way the vilomah held his head.

“Look,” Rylett said at last, clearing a weight from her throat. She crouched down before the boy, parting the fur of her scalp to show a small scar, faint and grey with age. Yotun peered closer from where he stood. She shifted the fur on her left cheek to show a near identical scar, and then another beneath her chin. All the marks were small, hardly a nick, but the woman knew where each and every one was. “A pyq held my head in one paw,” she said, her eyes vacant, “whilst another ate my son… my sweet boy…”

Ki-yu turned away, shirking the look her brother must have given her. The pyq disguise felt stuffy and uncomfortable.

“She’s not like them…” her brother’s weak voice said.

“I know that…” Rylett replied softly. “But we… we should be afraid of them, Imdi. They would take every one of us for cattle and… use us for all we are. But her…” The costume was unbearably hot. “She is something extraordinary! Exceptional! Wonderful! Everyone should know of her and what she means! But we would also kill her to understand why, and her own kind would kill her for what she represents! She can never leave us. No one else will understand. She’ll always be in danger, always.”

The certainty of those words was too much to bear. Lying to Baba, the car ride, the fair and the dance, her close call… Rylett crouched down in front of Ki-yu before she even knew she had started crying. The priestess sighed and pulled away the predator mask to look at the girl beneath. Ki-yu could not meet her eyes, but Rylett pulled her close anyway.

“Oh, sweet child,” she cooed, letting her cry over her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. It’s not fair, I know.”

“I– I– ju–just w–wanted to help! J–just wa–wanted to see!”

“I know. I want you to see them too. But you can’t take these risks so lightly. Had you considered what would have happened to them if you were caught?”

“I just wanted to see…” she repeated.

“Someday you will, someday you’ll see it all.” Rylett pulled back, wiping the tears from Ki-yu’s face. “And I promise I will find a way to save you.”

The girl sniffed back her tears, knowing the priestess meant it. Ki-yu blew her nose into the crook of her costumed elbow. She froze. Something lingered on the edge of scent. Something… noxious.

“Who-who’s room is this?” she whispered.

“This is the staff room,” Rylett shrugged. Ki-yu slid off the couch, following the faint scent round the edge of the chamber. It was barely there, like breath vanishing from a mirror. She paced back and forth before the lockers.

“Ki-yu?” Rylett called to her. Imdi moved quickly to his sister’s side.

“Is it…?” he whispered. Ki-yu screwed up her eyes, growling as she tried not to lose the taste.

“Will you tell me what’s going on?” Rylett sighed.

“The smell from the forest,” Yotun said. “She’s found it.”

“This one…” she said at last, pointing to one locker. The door rattled as Imdi tried the handle.

“But… this is the staff room,” Imdi said, turning to his teacher. “Who’s locker is this?” The priestess regarded them carefully.

“It’s… Oryn’s,” she said. None of them said a thing. Yotun seemed to be grinding his teeth.

The chime of Rylett’s device shattered the silence.

“Your parents are here,” she announced, “let’s not keep them.”

“But what if–!” Imdi started.

“I think that’s enough mischief for one day,” Rylett muttered, handing Ki-yu the predator mask with its floppy face. “I’ll look into it.” The champion eyed the locker for a long moment before they left.

Rylett escorted them outside to find that most of the revelry had died down, the people gathering before the tents where the oldest, whitest radji Ki-yu had ever seen was standing atop the podium she had seen before.

Looking across the yard Ki-yu spied their parents standing near the gate. Mama saw them at once as she had been staring fixedly at the doorway, Baba pacing back and forth beside her. He stopped as he saw Mama’s wide-eyed expression, performing a double take that nearly spun his head off his neck. Ki-yu suddenly felt like she would have been happier talking to Damar again. Rylett quickly marched over to them, giving the kids no chance to double back.

“Nobody realises,” she said quietly. “I’d recommend a hasty retreat.” Baba looked like he wanted to laugh, but a sidelong glance at his wife quelled that impulse. He turned his gaze on each of them in turn. Imdi was trying to look brave, even though he could not meet the man’s eyes. Braq stopped in front of Yotun.

“I take it your parents will have no idea about this little… escapade?” he said. The older boy at least had the common sense to look sheepish.

“So long as I get the car back in time,” he replied.

“You nearly took out our fence then?”

“Nearly,” Yotun admitted with a grimace. In the distance a cheer went up as the man began to speak.

“The time has at last come for the tithing!” he said, his voice echoey and muffled by the distance. “Make sure all the children have their seeds!” Ki-yu remembered the pouch the young girl had given her, feeling about it in her pocket.

Mama stepped up to Ki-yu, holding up her arm.

“And who’s idea was this?” she said at last, her voice sickly-sweet.

“It was a group effort,” Ki-yu huffed, earning her a fierce glare. “I want to go listen,” she said, tossing her plush head in the direction of the crowd.

“I think not,” Mama tutted, turning, and pulling her toward the gate. “You’re stuck indoors for all of summer, miss!” Her mother’s grip burned where she twisted in her grip, but Ki-yu, seized by a moment of bravado, pulled herself free. Turin grabbed her shoulder, turning her around, but the girl shrugged her paw away.

“Where do you think you’re going?!” her mother hissed. Ki-yu thrust out the seed pouch in front of Turin’s nose.

“I just want a minute. I-I wanna do–” Turin snatched the pouch away.

“You’ll do no such thing!” She seized both of Ki-yu’s shoulders this time. “Are you mad?! Haven’t you learned anything?!”

“I’ve been here all this time, and nobody–!”

“We’re going home!” Her mother’s voice cut through her.

“Or what?!” Ki-yu snapped back. “You’ll ground me twice?” Turin looked about wildly.

“For the Goddess, don’t make a scene!” she hissed. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

“N-no,” she begged, a stone in her throat. “I-I just– I just want to live!” Her mother’s eyes almost trembled in her face, her expression crumpling in a moment. She let go of her, brushing against her fabric face where the tears would be. For a long moment Ki-yu thought she might unmask her right there, just to dry her eyes.

“Sweetheart…”

“They don’t know Mama. It’ll be okay.” Baba appeared at their side,

“She’ll never get another chance,” he whispered. Mama looked despairingly between them, then out to the podium. She closed her eyes and held out the seeds.

“Quickly now,” she said. “Then straight back here!”

Ki-yu did not waste any time, moving through the throng as quickly as she could without standing out. People were moving past the barrels at a steady pace, the fall of so many seeds like rain. The old man nodded benignly at the crowd. The matriarch Damar stood at his side, her daughter smiling attentively to those about her. Ki-yu thought her expression wooden. She poured the seeds out into the growing number, feeling flush beneath the costume as the trio watched her pass.

Turin grabbed a hold of Ki-yu as if she would take off when she returned, but she did not mind. As the last few people filled the barrels, the man called out again.

“Whilst we enjoy the fruit of today, we must not forget the labour, the toil that went into them, nor the forgo our duty to the next harvest.”

She looked around at the crowd. More people than she had known in her life stood but a few steps away. A girl in a blue sash sat happily on her father’s shoulders, beads twisted up to his chin.

No one was looking at them, they all had turned to watch the old man speak.

“Tomorrow is the end of the long spring!” he called out. “And with it at last arrives the summer harvest!” Ki-yu looked at them all, and suddenly the silly and outlandish costumes seemed not to matter. In fact, they rather seemed like the point. “I bid you all a fine season, and many warm nights!”

It did not even matter that autumn followed summer, and winter after that. They were together now and would be then. That was all that mattered.

Mama stroked Ki-yu’s head, the girl leaning into her.

“You look ridiculous,” Mama said. Ki-yu laughed.

They stood around and watched the people laugh and sing and drink to a better tomorrow.

---

“The illusions of childhood are necessary experiences: a child should not be denied a balloon just because an adult knows that sooner or later it will burst.”

– Marcelene Cox, 1948.