Rylett, Champion of The Protectorate.

Date [standardised human time]: March 17th, 2124.

(12 years, 6 months before the invasion of the radji Cradle).

Voices beyond number rang and echoed in the long marble hall, the hubbub rising and falling as people milled about. The summons had been total; most of The Protectorate were here, arriving for this summit from across the world.

Rylett was trying not to look as weary as she felt, having found a quiet bench at a less crowded table toward the back of the hall. The days had dragged on and on without end, and little good had come from the discussions. The summit was called to form a consensus and to hear all points of view, but had only made enemies and generated more discord. These godly men and women were far better in the pulpit; she had seen children give more nuanced debates.

The Alderbeth was the oldest church in Bendara, which wasn’t saying much. The cathedral that Rylett had knelt in as a girl in the little village of Myrreltot was several centuries or more older, with its simple, small idols, and narrow passageways that smelt of mould and ochre. The grand temples in Caiyu befit so ancient and holy a city—a millennia old, at the least. Stone once quarried from the rocky shores to build parapets had turned from pale sparkling white to beige, then cream, and at last a dull orange, running like watercolour across the old stone.

Bendara, being so far south, had been late to welcome the Triumvirate of Kay-ut, but the Alderbeth was trying to emulate the old work of Caiyu in its construction. Modesty had clearly not hampered the mind of the architect. It was, perhaps, a mere six stories tall, although half that height was from the vast cavern that formed the interior of the main hall. The roof above her tiled marble floors was made of many pictograms, small carvings of faces and scenes, too numerous and distant to make out. Great, gothic pillars jutted out from the walls, ornate and gaudy, helping to support the mosaic ceiling.

Half raised along the eastern and western walls were smaller pulpits, accessible from stairways carved into the narrow halls that criss-crossed through the outer structure. Tall narrow windows of misted glass pierced the outer walls, sending soft spears of dancing daylight across the space. Tapestries were draped down from these higher levels, ornately woven with scenes from scripture. From one wall hung the image of the great Prophet Augentine, of whom all knew, standing proud upon the bulwark. Drooping across another was Euwen fleeing Oromaad across the strait that would one day bear her name, washing ashore to find the Lillith amid wreck and ruin. A complementary tapestry on the opposite wall showed her boarding the second ship Vohirrm and heading east with her disciples into the Ocean of the Dawn. There was even a small effigy to the Good King Myr, sitting on his throne of sticks in the Walking Wood.

A large but simple mural on the northern wall overhung a great dais splashed with azure and violet, the colours of Ki-ra and the Protector, inset before a bisected circle of black and white for Kay-ut Herself.

And no sign of the Godling Ki-yu. His absence from the pantheon had only become more conspicuous to the Priestess of late. What good did it do to hide away the Goddess’ mistakes, or those of the Son himself? If even gods can sin, should that not make us kinder?

Still, for all its grandeur, the Alderbeth failed to contain so many priests and champions, most spilling out into the parks and gardens outside. Clergy of various walks and flavours mingled about the space. The young and awkward acolytes stuck to the outskirts, with the safety of the walls at their backs. The brash up-and-comers strutted and jostled about the middle starting the epistemological equivalents of brawls, whilst those with more years at their backs poked holes in their arguments with the poise and brutal effect of a surgeon replacing their spleen with a grenade.

The oldest, and wisest, usually joined the timid youths along the walls.

The priestess was considering the likelihood of her absence being noticed when a man sat himself down beside her, a hearty tea in one paw. Rylett fought not to roll her eyes as she saw whom.

“Terrible,” Harbeck murmured in his baritone voice. “Simply terrible.” She couldn’t agree more: this was a terrible turn of events.

“Harbeck,” she said through a tight-lipped smile. “How’re you doing?”

Her fellow priest wobbled a heavily furred arm about. “Well enough,” he grumbled. “The church work is keeping me going without school. The nauret are sticking their snouts in with the redevelopment, did you hear?”

“I did,” she sighed with a light expression she didn’t feel. It grieved Rylett to learn that the school was effectively being dug up, the old structure returned to the dirt. The rickety old passageways that braced Collewake School’s interior were relics themselves, traditionally made centuries past—thousands of students had lived and learned there. An above-ground structure would be safer, no doubt, but it would lose much of its charm.

“At least they’ve kept the old hall and dais,” she said.

“Yes, well, it’s the right decision,” he guffawed. “So long as Meredahn foots the bill.” They looked up as one nearby group erupted into a three-way argument, a young acolyte backing away from an older man who was jabbing at her with a long and crooked claw. A broad-shouldered man interjected, although the older man persisted. It was too far to hear their words, but it was clearly not mild.

“Oryn…” Harbeck tutted. “The man has created a schism in the faith,” he told her, as if she did not know. “I never trusted him,” he sniffed, taking a sip of his tea.

“Of course not,” Rylett murmured, resting her cheek on her paw. The nearby argument was drawing more attention, two sides seeming to form around the altercation. She doubted it would come to blows—as much as she longed for some entertainment—but wounded prides could spell lifelong adversaries.

Nearby there was a swelling in the crowd, people moving toward a central point. On the upper parapets, she saw people nudge their fellows, some looking down more surreptitiously than others. The throng bubbled out, grew and contracted as priests and spiritual leaders rushed about its perimeter to see within. From their midst came a woman’s laugh, a mellow, brassy timbre Rylett had not heard in some time. She sat up at once, peering through the crowd.

Within, the argument had ceased, the older man in friendly banter with a fourth party. The newcomer was a short, middle-aged woman with a warm smile, who was now laughing at some jest of the broad-shouldered man. Rylett didn’t fail to notice that this woman’s fur had turned grey, but was still short, buzzed and trimmed to perfection; Rylett had always loved how tightly it clung to her frame, showing the curve of her body to almost a scandalous degree. It’d be more amiable for a woman her age to let it grow out as elders so often did, but this one stubbornly struggled on. The sight made Rylett smile.

“Oh,” Harbeck blustered, sitting up as well. “That’s her, is it?”

Mirna, the First Champion of The Protector, Harbinger of Kay-ut, was not at first glance an imposing figure. Not quite in the last of her seasons, Mirna was a small woman who had long ago perfected the feat of fixing her gaze from beneath her eyelashes upon even the tallest radji in the room without ever looking up at them. The First’s frame was short, yes, but it still held no small amount of sinew and muscle, her posture a memory of the poise and swagger of her strong and powerful youth.

A long robe of pale satin, trimmed with plumb velvet hung over her shoulders, carefully measured to just barely touch the floor. It hid her feet as she moved, giving her the effect of gliding about the space. The attire was for show, Rylett surmised—she knew quite well that it would be abandoned at her first convenience.

“It is,” Rylett murmured. The older man said something that made the woman laugh again, although Rylett could hear the slightest hint of scorn in her voice.

The First put out her paw on the young acolyte’s shoulder. The girl appeared to be blushing, looking down at her feet. Mirna looked about the crowd as she spoke, too distant to be heard, her eyes passing over then back to Rylett. Though she didn’t stop in her speech, Rylett saw the lightness of her smile, allowing just a moment’s glance before turning back to the older man.

“Suppose that makes amends then,” Harbeck muttered into his drink.

Rylett shot him a sideward glare. “She’s the First, Harbeck. She can’t afford to pick a side.”

“There’s a luxury we don’t have,” he said grimly.

“And what would you have her do?” Rylett sighed, rapidly tiring of this company. “Have her pick fights like the rest of this lot? Maybe an organised brawl after the plenary?”

“That at least is action! Oryn shows that we need stronger leadership. This… greasing of palms, playing both sides… it’s spineless.”

Rylett bristled, standing. “At least no one will be calling your name for a vote.”

“Ahem,” came a long-unheard voice.

Rylett folded her paws before herself, shooting Harbeck one last look before turning and bowing politely as she faced her. Mirna, First Champion.

“Champion,” Mirna said, gazing at her from beneath her lashes, delight dancing there for a long moment. “It has been some time, Redheart.” The woman’s watery, flowing northern accent touched the pet-name softly.

Now it was Rylett’s turn to flush, the crowd having followed the First over. “Mirna… I-I mean, First Champion…” she murmured, stumbling over the titles. The woman took great joy in making her squirm, Rylett giving her a look they both knew promised retribution. “It’s been some time since I last heard that.”

Mirna chuckled anew, her eyes smiling about at the crowd. “But you always wore it so well, bearing your heart through your breast.” A few polite titters passed through the crowd.

“To be earnest and honest need not be burdens,” Rylett countered, standing a little taller as she pushed aside the swelling sense of being cornered. “You taught me that.”

“I’m glad to see it finally sunk in,” the grey woman said, keeping one eye on her from beneath her brow. “Come, sister. Walk with me.”

It was a rare privilege to walk beside the First, old friend or no, and she could feel the eyes of the whole clergy upon her. She said as much once they were alone—a great wooden door slamming shut with a resounding thud, the First leading them deeper down the dimly lit passageway—but Mirna’s demeanour had shifted in the same instant, no longer sparing Rylett a glance. An outsider would call her callous, or cold, but Rylett knew that, if indeed this was the same woman she once cherished, she was lost within her own mind.

“That was some row back there,” Rylett said into the quiet.

Mirna chuckled. “I wish I could say it was the only one.”

“It seems we’re all at each other’s throats. Who were those arguing before? I didn’t recognise them.”

“The older gentleman was Tytos, a Rotaniri,” Mirna said softly. “He’s one of Oryn’s harshest critics—I’ve never seen so orthodox a priest. The larger man was Perjorin, from the Torrys isles. The acolyte was his.”

Rylett scowled as she was led up a flight of stairs. “It was unfitting of the Faith. I doubt I would have been so generous.”

“I find it better to pray for insight than to dwell on such things,” Mirna said, gliding up each step. “It’s a pity I’ve never had the chance to visit this city before. To see it in such turmoil now…” Rylett had learned that a measured response was always wise. You always saw the big picture didn’t you, even at the cost of what was in front of you…

“Bendara has always proven difficult,” Rylett replied carefully. “But its people are hardy. They’ve grown on me.”

“They will have to be,” the First murmured as they reached the top of the stairs and rounded a corner. “There are dark days and hard choices ahead.”

“What kind of choices?” Rylett murmured curiously. Mirna caught her gaze with a side-long look. A flash of amusement lived there, still warm after all these years.

“Would you like to hear a secret?” Mirna asked, as though they were still acolytes.

“What about?”

Mirna glanced over her shoulder, even though they both knew they were alone. “Ki-yu,” she whispered.

Rylett knew that she meant the Godling, but the name still sent a slight wobble into her heart. “The Son, or the moon?” she asked, once again internally cursing parental initiative. “I suppose they are the same, are they not?”

“A question for scholars,” Mirna said with a shrug. “Every few years He returns, and we wish Him away. But Ki-yu isn’t just returning; my advisors tell me that the moon’s orbit is decaying.”

“Decaying?” Rylett paused in her step, Mirna stopping with her. Rylett struggled to find the words as the conclusion washed over her. “Why… that’d mean–”

“Yes,” Mirna said simply.

“Then… how long?” The priestess found herself strangely still.

Mirna shrugged. “Oh, about a half-dozen centuries or so.”

Rylett found herself lost for words, almost swaying on the spot. A moment of horror was replaced with a strange but hollow relief. Mirna had already started down the hallway once more. She hurried to catch up.

“H-how can you be so calm about this?!” the Champion stammered as they reached the end of the path, a doorway at its end.

“Oh, come now Rylett,” Mirna said simply. “We’ll both be long buried by the time it becomes a concern.”

“I think it’s a ‘concern’ now!” Rylett insisted as they approached the door. “This’s… catastrophic! I mean… shouldn’t we still be preparing?”

Mirna looked under her lashes at her, a quiet smile on her lips. “Why do you think I’m here, Redheart?”

The First Champion pushed through the doors and out onto the balcony beyond, leaving Rylett to brood and ponder for a moment in the doorway. She couldn’t understand how her old friend could be so flippant about such a calamity, distant or no. She considered the figure stretching her shoulders and leaning on the balustrade that stopped them from stepping out over the precipice beyond. Could she have changed so much from the woman she once adored?

The Alderbeth had been built on the northern side of the city, where the foothills met the sea. From this vantage, they had an unimpeded view of the water, still and dazzling in the daylight. The midday air was biting but refreshing after the heady warmth of the chapel as she joined Mirna on the balcony.

“Do you remember your chronicles, sister?” the woman asked, apropos of nothing.

“Could you be more specific?” Rylett chuckled, leaning against the stonework also. “Scripture was always your pastime,” she added, recalling the long nights of readings that had brought her naught but boredom and sleep.

“Who are we, sister?” the grey woman asked. “What is our purpose?”

“We… we are Champions of the Protectorate, and Priests of the Triumvirate.”

“Champions and priests? Are these separate disciplines?”

“Well… in the oldest texts, the Goddess had only two daughters, Ki-ra and Ra-ji, and the son Ki-yu. The Protectorate came later.”

“Good,” Mirna said with a nod. “Why do you suppose that is?”

“Mirna… First, why do you ask this? You know the histories far better than I.”

“Humour me, Redheart,” the woman said, putting her own paw on the back of Rylett’s. The contact plucked sharply at her heart, Rylett pulling back slightly, and leaning the small of her back against the balustrade. She had to cover her face for a moment, pretending to be in thought. Mirna would see right through it, undoubtedly, but the woman merely plucked a loose thread on her gown as she waited patiently.

“The Protectorate began in Caiyu,” Rylett recalled, appeasing her. “The Triumvirate of Kay-ut was one of several faiths present in those ancient days, and different Champions would represent the factions and care for the needs of the people. Over time, the other faiths fell away, but the need to care for the most vulnerable remained. The Protector figure arose around that time.” She crossed her arms. “I still don’t understand–”

“Oh, Rylett, you always were a poor student,” Mirna chuckled. “Change, dear, that is the thing. Change. You might recall that the Protectorate used to be a womanly profession, hm? The old mothers needed something to keep the boys in line, although I suspect it cost them more than they bargained for.”

“And that too changed…” Rylett said, catching her meaning.

“The menfolk were not satisfied being left out,” Mirna continued, “and quite right too! We could have fought amongst ourselves over it, but instead we moved on. The Protectorate was joined with the Triumvirate—I can assure you, the records attest that the debates back there–” she gestured to the halls behind them, “–were tawdry affairs compared to the wars we fought amongst ourselves! The Faith changed. We adapted, and we survived. Tytos and all these other orthodox priests, they would hold to the fire anyone who so much as challenges the littlest bit of scripture. But they fail to recognise that change is as natural to Kay-ut herself as it is to us.”

“Yes,” Rylett murmured, catching herself from leaning closer. “The students I have taken here… they all face different challenges, but all of them teach me too.”

“The Goddess wears many faces, no?” the First said, pulling her robe tighter as a frosty gust of wind rose up and over the balcony. “Oryn is right,” she muttered against the bitter frost. “We have lost our way. But a direct challenge to the government would not be in our best interest.” She frowned, lines once gentle now cutting deep across her face. “The Protectorate is weaker than it once was. In Jiy-pei there was a suicide. Champion Kranso-ti failed to intervene.”

“I hadn’t heard of this,” Rylett muttered.

“Yes, a tragedy we’ve managed to contain and repent for. But here, Oryn’s failure was far more public. He put the needs of the one before the many and allowed a dangerous individual to run free. And that’s just the start; champions have been failing their charges a lot more than usual of late. Even you were involved in that roht incident a few years ago.” Mirna looked her over with a practiced eye, two flecks of pointed sunshine. “Rylett, sweet, tell me true… what happened?”

Wearily, Rylett recounted the story, as much as she could tell. She told of Braq and Turin and their son, their work and the Brackwood forest; talked of the troubled boy Yotun, and the comfort he took walking there. A part of her wondered if her old friend, who knew her so well, could tell she was leaving much unsaid. But Rylett had told the lie so often that even she herself almost believed it. Mirna listened intently the whole time, taking it all in.

“And the father?” she asked when Rylett was finished. “This Teraka, he is gone?”

“So it would seem,” Rylett said slowly. She had long given up on finding him, but his disappearance still kept her up at night. “Callio was a gifted young girl. It… it was all a tragic bit of poor luck.”

“And this firestarter? Roklin?”

Rylett grimaced. Try as she might, she could not get an audience with the boy. By all accounts he was making his clinicians miserable. “That… that I can only try and repent for.”

“I confess…” the grey woman said at length, “I do not like this talk of releasing predators into these woods, by anyone I might add. Perhaps I should ask about this Juran fellow, he seems too sly by half.” She looked back to Rylett. “And there’s nothing else… unsavoury, out in those woods?”

“I’ve worked with both families out there—the roht are gone.”

“You’re certain?” Mirna asked, her eyes deep and searching. “Those woods are immense and foreboding—I saw them myself from the air. People say that dark things still lurk there.”

Rylett moved to her. “Mirna–,” she said the name with confidence now, earnest and honest. “There’s nothing of danger in those woods.” Mirna looked up at her, lifting her head to bring them far closer than Rylett had intended. Rylett stepped back, chastising herself for forgetting her place.

Mirna watched her retreat. “Why do you recoil, Rylett? Did you not miss me too?”

Rylett could not stop herself. “Surely you didn’t come all this way just to see me?”

Mirna flashed her eyes at her playfully. “Would it be so bad if I had?”

“Mirna, I–” Rylett clenched her teeth together tight enough to not let out the truth. She took ahold of Mirna’s firm shoulders, letting her paws feel along her arms and run past her elbows to linger with linked paws for just a moment—just one. Some quiet corner of her still longed for the firmness of Praetor’s shoulders, twisting the knife in her chest further. “We aren’t that anymore, Mirri,” she said quietly. “We both found our own paths.”

“My path led me here,” Mirna put out her paw, spreading it across Rylett’s breast in a way that made her breath catch. “…back here.” They stood there, neither moving, save for the rise and fall of her chest. If anyone saw them there, scandal and ruin would befall them both, but the warmth against the chill of the wind felt so…

After a little eternity, Mirna pulled back, but it felt like she took a part of Rylett’s heart with her.

“I would put a task to you, sister,” the First said. “You know Oryn personally, yes?”

Rylett felt a pang of remorse, a little dazed. She ducked her head in acknowledgement. “I do,” she said after a moment.

“Then go, speak to him. I want to know what makes him tick.”

“Now?”

“This is an important matter. I give you leave of these terrible arguments—I know they bore you so.”

“Oryn has been vocal enough already,” Rylett grunted. “I don’t understand what talking to him would gain us.”

“This divide goes deeper than we may realise,” Mirna said, fixing her with a firm look. “Rylett, you saw the situation back there. What do you think will happen to the Protectorate if the government imprisons a Champion? How do you think the public will react if they don’t?” She leaned close. “The faith needs unity, and wise leadership in the years to come. You must convince him to put aside this reformist action.”

“Oryn has always thought highly of himself,” Rylett muttered. “That might prove difficult.”

“I know it’s within your abilities,” she said, pulling her garments tighter still. “This wind is bracing, and I must return within.” Mirna turned from the balustrade, her vestments swishing as she moved. She stopped by the doors and turned to glance over her shoulder. “It was good to see you, Redheart,” she said with a soft smile, and left Rylett alone upon the balcony.

~*~

Rylett tried to read along, her eyes sliding off the page. A fire had been lit in the corner of Ki-yu’s den, nicely warm and cosy after the chilled drive from the lodge. Ki-yu almost radiated more warmth than the fire, even compared to her normally bubbly self.

“We could go for a nice long walk!” the girl had suggested with an enthusiastic bob of the head. Rylett, who was weary from the long arguments in the Alderbeth, settled for some reading instead. Curling up in the soft pile of cushions as the girl practised her reading aloud, Rylett fought not to fall asleep.

The priestess had been restless all week trying and failing to contact Oryn. She was quickly stonewalled on every official channel and calling in some promising old favours had done little else. She wasn’t exactly surprised; the man was quickly becoming the most infamous figure in Bendara. The media speculated endlessly on the outcome of a potential trial, much of which seemed to hinge on whatever the champion pleaded, and whether he had overreached his Champion’s prerogative. It felt like his name was on everyone’s lips more than any other—save perhaps Roklin’s.

People passed in the street would talk of his noble cause, the little man standing up for the person he failed, but the boy they had little time for. Roklin had been guarded at the Clinic of Social Control without visitors for all these months, which only added to the notion that he was dangerous and feral. The most charitable opinion seemed to be that he had lacked guidance to steer him from his tragic course. His poor parents suffered no end of chastising online, hiding away in their small home as photographers crowded outside. As his former teacher, Rylett herself had been cornered by reporters and investigators more than once, prying and searching for any new angle with a filthy, hungry look in their eyes. One had shouted rumours and hearsay so foul at her she would have struck him had he been within reach.

The priestess had cried herself to sleep that night, cursing herself for her weakness all the while. She could not believe the boy to be a monster, to be so far beyond retribution. It grieved her to learn that he fought his clinicians at every turn.

That was partly why Rylett was surprised one morning to find her prayers answered. A message had arrived in her inbox, inviting her to the Bendara CSC to visit Roklin.

Roklin has been largely uncooperative, it read, but I believe it could be in his interest to see a familiar face. Your skills would be most appreciated in this matter.

Kindly,

Tyranora del Elanae,

Senior Clinician BCSC,

Social Psychoanalyst.

A spark of hope, one sorely needed, awoke in her. She needed a way to get to the boy, reach the pupil she once knew… if only… if only…

Rylett awoke with a start, finding Ki-yu prodding her. The flames seemed to lick and dance across the sheen of her inky black scales.

“Was I that bad?” the girl asked, looming over her. The girl stood a head taller than her with ease now—Rylett wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the Priestess yawned. “The fire must’ve gotten the better of me.”

“Haven’t you been sleeping?” Ki-yu chirruped.

“No,” she replied, gently closing her own book and rubbing at her eyes. “Not with this summit and the First Champion about.”

Ki-yu sat back on her haunches, the two at eye level as the pyq’s long tail flicked back and forth. “Mama was saying. What’s she like?”

Soft and firm, with a voice so wicked and a touch so…

Rylett pinched her brow. “Busy,” she said. “She’s a busy woman. I think… I think I might be done for the day.”

“But you’ve only just got here!” Ki-yu whined. “Couldn’t you come back tomorrow?”

“No,” she sighed. “I’m seeing another student tomorrow, Irimya.”

Ki-yu made a clicking sound. “The alien?”

Rylett chuckled dryly, but quickly faltered at the girl’s quizzical expression. Of course, she realised. Ki-yu was born here too, so they’re aliens to her also. “The nauret,” the priestess corrected her after a moment. “Her mother is the matriarch of the Meredahn House.”

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“A house? Like… a building?”

Rylett tutted. “More like a family. A shared business. The name Meredahn is a kind of symbol, and symbols hold power in the minds of people. The Meredahn House was one of several Lesser Houses that grew into power after the human conflict.”

If the pyq had ears they would have perked up. “’Human,’” she murmured. “I’ve not heard of those before.”

“Old history,” Rylett muttered, moving to stand.

“Couldn’t we call it a history lesson?” Ki-yu looked at her impishly under her brow. “How can I learn if my teacher is so sleepy?”

Rylett sighed, humouring her. She settled back into the cushions, gazing into the fire as she thought back to her innocent childhood. Her father had given a sermon on unity to an anxious crowd. She still remembered the way her mother had gripped her paw so tightly she had protested.

“A long time ago,” she began, “when I was younger than you are now, there were reports of conflict in the outer iridian colonies. Iridians are… an expansive, explorative species. They like to dig in unsafe ground, as it were; push the boundaries. Colonies have always been dangerous out on the frontier, and it’s hard to keep in contact. So, it wasn’t unusual to not hear from one for weeks or more. But one of the most distant… stopped reporting in. When the iridians sent spacecraft to resupply them, they found that some… battle had taken place, only a handful of colonists surviving.

“Initially… we suspected your kind. An attack on a colony… isn’t outside the pyq’s playbook. They… enjoy picking on the weaker systems that’re more vulnerable than the core worlds.” She pushed past the memories of her own colony, the transport, and all that still remained sharp beyond the gulf of space and years. Ki-yu didn’t seem to react more than a tilt of the head, so Rylett continued. “But… but it became clear that it wasn’t your usual chattel run. The survivors described an enemy that was rarely seen alive, the combat almost always at long distance and drawn-out. Guerrilla warfare, not the… the scoured ground assaults the pyq favour. The bodies that were found were alien—other alien, that is. New alien.”

“I don’t understand; was that so bad?”

Rylett sighed. “You have to remember Ki-yu that meeting new species is… rare. Dangerous. There might be a dozen or so in charted space, and each group behaves differently. Some are friendly, others keep to themselves. One of the last we came across was the pyq, and they’ve been harrying us ever since.”

Ki-yu crossed her forepaws. “What did these new aliens look like?”

“Apish. Tall and thin to a radji, mostly hairless. They didn’t look particularly strong, and their armaments were primitive, but clearly they’d put up a fight. Eventually, chatter got out, and the iridians were running out of options, so they called for aid.”

“And you all answered…” Ki-yu murmured, coiling about herself in the dim light of the den.

“The nauret answered. Their Houses respect initiative, strength, leadership… the conflict provided the chance to prove that. They… certainly tried.” She shook her head. “Well… the nauret found their command centre and destroyed it from orbit. It’s from that outpost that we’ve gathered as much as we have: a few logs, precious few relics of their culture. They called themselves human. They lived on a planet they called Soil.”

Ki-yu gave her a complex look. “I suppose they blew that up too.”

Rylett shook her head. “The logs were damaged, incomplete. No one’s been able to find it.”

“So… this Soil planet is just out there somewhere, right?”

“I suppose so,” Rylett murmured. “People get worried whenever a deep space shipment is late, and you see plenty you can’t explain out there. But it’s been forty years now, and no one has seen or heard a thing for sure.” Ki-yu just sat deep in thought, curled about herself. Rylett thought that she’d known the girl long enough to safely read her mood as sheepish. Carefully the priestess leaned over and jostled her shoulder. “Boo!”

The girl startled in a flash of wide eyes and long teeth that half jumped her to her feet and caused a murmur of fright within the priestess herself.

“Don’t do that!” the girl half-gasped half-giggled.

The priestess chuckled. “Lesson’s over.” Rylett sat back again, smiling to herself. “It’s all ghost stories, child. The humans are gone. Why the interest in aliens all of a sudden, hm?” she asked, much as the thought came to her.

Ki-yu shrugged, returning to her book. “They’re different is all. That’s interesting.” She splayed one narrow, six-fingered paw across the cover, wide enough to span its longest edge with ease.

“Endlessly,” the priestess whispered. An idea came to her.

~*~

The Lesser House of Meredahn had cruisers in high orbit but had seen fit to establish an embassy on the upper levels of Bendara’s civil districts. A rare bout of snowfall had befallen the city overnight, and the sky was overcast with the sudden whiteout. Rylett supposed it must’ve been midmorning; she had waited long enough already.

The civil district was a tight knit collection of stubby, squat towers buried on the eastern side of the overcity, occupied by the well-groomed and gold-toothed business class. The embassy was, by comparison, a needle-thin spire to these chunkier, barrel-like structures. She had been instructed to await entry by the lower gates, a pair of landing pads jutting out midway up the building. Beneath her simple shawl and furs, Rylett shivered on the steps. She was almost longing for the warmth of the chapel, and another long walk with Mirna… She shook herself of the thought. She wasn’t some coy young acolyte any longer, nor a lonesome and broken thing returning to the cloth when all the world was lost. She was a Champion of Kay-ut, and long past any pangs of such reckless bluster.

When the door was finally opened, so cold was the priestess that she almost burst her way inside without summons. It took no small amount of restraint to wait for the looming shape in the doorway to beckon her in. Mumbling her thanks and shuffling within, she found herself standing in a wide, warmly lit hall with high vaulted ceilings and great curving steps that rose up to a higher level. This, she recalled, was once a theatre, built with pomp and décor to suit the balls and plays popular in centuries past. The building had been largely abandoned, but its wide hallways and grand design also served for the nauret stature and sentiment. The floors had been refurbished with a crimson-coloured carpet tasselled with a gold trim, so thick Rylett’s feet sunk into it.

The nauret that had greeted her at the door was not one she had met before; only Ambassador Damar and her daughter had braved the city proper. This one she judged to be an older male by his—relatively—short stature, a mere head and a half taller than her. A braided mane of hair that ran down the back of his neck, greased and braced with bronze bands. From waist to ankle was slung a loose garment of similar colours and trimmings to the trappings of the embassy, tailored to fit more snugly about his abdomen and waist. His bay-coloured, short-furred hide hung off his form loosely, although Rylett did not mistake that he could easily throw her from her feet should he feel so inclined.

“Priestess,” the alien said with a careful bow. “You honour us. I am Pardek, a doorman of sorts.”

“R-Rylett,” she stammered, shaking the last of the frost from her cloak. “I-I am here for Irimya.”

“Of course,” he said politely. “The mistress is just within. Follow, if you would.”

Rylett blew some warmth into her paws, having to march to keep stride.

“I apologise for the wait without,” the alien said, watching her rub her shuddering paws. “We take our house’s security very seriously, and communication with the local garrison has not been forthcoming.”

“I understand c-completely,” Rylett told him, surmising ‘garrison’ to mean law enforcement. “I must commend your House’s fortitude; no one would blame you from withdrawing from Bendara after the incident in the school.”

“Meredahn keeps its pacts, Priestess,” he said, knuckling his way up a wide flight of steps that protested loudly beneath him.

“Is the ambassador in?” she asked as they walked.

“The Matriarch has been busy of late and apologises for her poor candour,” Pardek croaked. Reaching the top of the stairs he led them down a short hallway before pushing through a polished, hand-carved wooden door.

Within was an ornate, squarish room. A fireplace burned low on one wall, crackling gently and filling the room with shifting orange light. Beside it was another ornate door, similar to the one they had entered. Across the floor was scattered rugs and plump, low cushions—the nauret shirked chairs—and most of the remaining walls were taken up by bookcases littered with tomes. Full-length windows formed the wall opposite the door, the world without whirling white. Before it was a great slab of a wooden desk, so massive Rylett wondered how it had fit through the door. It had been carefully cleared of any documents or devices save a single massive tablet screen, and a curious, rounded device about the size of Rylett’s fist. It projected upon the ceiling a swirling vortex of grey clouds, snowdrift passing overhead in a silent frenzy. Pardek saw her staring.

“Nauret seldom dwell below ground like your kind,” he said. “We sleep better beneath an open sky.” He moved to the second door and knocked once. There was a muffled sound within. “Wait here,” he told her, leaving her in the antechamber.

Rylett walked carefully around the room, looking about. The books she saw were mostly of radji make, classics that might have been left over from the embassy’s previous life as a theatre—Rylett supposed this room must have belonged to the director or maybe the stage manager. Most were dusty, although a few had seen recent reading.

She peered closely at the small, delicate-looking projector. Within, a slight ticking noise could be heard, mechanical in nature, that rose and fell in a simple melody. The light metal was engraved with nauret figures dancing, resting, and a clearly male individual displaying himself before a lounging woman. Rylett wondered if the pants Pardek wore were purely decorative. She pushed the crude thought aside and wandered over to the fire to rid her paws of the last of their numbness.

Above the fireplace was an unusual helmet, displayed prominently upon a long-muzzled but faceless bust. It was a simple rounded shape, with long flaps of material to cover the ears. Something about its lustre was familiar to her, although she couldn’t immediately place from where.

The second door creaked open again, Irimya stepping primly through. She too had her flank draped in a tightly fitted fabric, although of a clearly softer, more plush fabric than the man a step behind her.

“Priestess,” the girl whinnied, moving to her. “How are you?”

“Well,” she replied, bowing politely. “And yourself?”

“I am looking forward to our trip, I’ve been locked inside like a prisoner for weeks. I want to know this city, your people properly!” She looked down at Rylett’s paws. “Why, you are shaking!” She turned to the man. “Pardek, did you leave her out in the blizzard?!”

“Your safety is paramount, mistress,” he replied. “I must follow protocol.”

Irimya smacked the ground with an open palm. “Must you?” She gestured brusquely to the projector. “The stellarium, Pardek.”

It was almost remarkable the effortless grace with which Irimya ordered about a man twice her height and many times heavier than herself, but he seemed to take no offence.

Rylett averted her gaze, turning again to the strange helmet.

Irimya watched her. “Something caught your eye?”

“It’s strange,” the priestess murmured. She cautiously extended a paw to touch it, finding its gently pebbled surface smooth and cold. She withdrew her paw at once. “Is… is this… hide?”

The alien tossed her head. “It’s pyq,” she said. “Mother’s grandmother won it.”

“Pyq don’t wear helmets,” Rylett heard herself say, a tide of revulsion bubbling within her.

“No,” Irimya yawned, “they don’t. Come, we mustn’t dawdle.”

The stellarium plinked off, its little melody ceasing with a long whine. Pardek gently replaced the device upon the desk.

He turned to Irimya. “The departure bay, miss?”

“I think so,” the girl said primly, trotting from the room.

Rylett was still staring at the leather cap, the firelight casting something ghastly across its smooth bust.

Pardek cleared his throat. “This way, ma’am,” he said gently, gesturing for the door. Rylett was glad to leave it.

“I see you’ve met Pardek,” Irimya brayed as they walked. “He is the man-of-house.”

“Hm? Oh, yes…” Rylett turned to the man for some distraction. “Pardek, pardon my ignorance, but what exactly is a man-of-house?”

Irimya made a harsh, whinnying sound. “I’m sorry, Priestess, but Pardek cannot answer to you. You’re not a woman of sufficient station.”

“I beg your pardon, little mistress,” Pardek croaked, “but that’s not strictly true.”

“Oh?” the girl said, knuckling the floor with a solid stomp mid-stride. “Pray tell, man?”

“Whilst it is true that it would be quite improper for a woman of a lower house to approach or query another’s man-of-house, the good woman here is not of any house and, of course, not nauret.”

“Precisely, wouldn’t that make her a commoner?”

“Perhaps, mistress. But she is also a Priestess—a… Champion, yes?”

“Yes,” Rylett admitted, a little uneasily.

“Ah, then she is—in a sense—a revered mistress of a foreign and equal house. With such precedent, I would suggest we belay that particular protocol… if your highness prefers?”

Irimya bayed agreeably. “I would.”

Rylett was surprised to learn that what she had interpreted as a manservant was in fact one of the highest ranks a male nauret could hold in a Great House.

“Although our chief duty is to manage the tasks and discipline of the menfolk,” Pardek explained, “we also take great pride in helping to care for and instruct the young, manage and oversee the staff that care for the domicile, utilities, and operations, and to provide council on the important matters of business, warfare, and politics.”

The man led them down a long corridor that skirted the perimeter of the building; tall windows showed that the blizzard outside had waned little.

“So, you are a consultant?” Rylett asked, shuddering at the chill through the pane. “A, hm… a kind of mentor? We are alike then.”

Pardek made a non-committal grunting sound. “In a sense, although I fear there may be no clear analogue in your society.”

“Perhaps not. I should hasten to add that men can also be priests and champions.”

Irimya snorted. “Pardek would not want to live like that, would you Pardek? You would not know what to do with yourself.”

The man-of-house nodded evenly. “I live to serve.”

Rylett did not like the way this innocent-seeming girl spoke to him, but she would not challenge her within her own house.

They were led out of the building on the landing pad adjacent to where Rylett had parked, a formal embassy car readied for them. A driver and a guard—a nauret woman of substantial stature—were waiting within. The snows still wailed about them, Rylett reflexively pulling her shawl tighter.

She turned back to Pardek as Irimya clambered aboard. “I mustn’t judge,” she said, voice raised above the din, “but, isn’t this all terribly unfair?”

“Fair?” he chuckled, a flash of flat teeth in the storm. “You needn’t pity me, kind one. Nauret society has been matriarchal so long as nauret have had a society. I accept my lot in things.”

Rylett smiled wanly. “Still… for what it’s worth, I think you’d make a very good priest.”

He bowed deeply again. “You honour me, mistress,” he said, the look in his eye something foreign to them both. Rylett suffered the cold long enough to see him trudge back inside.

As she sat, Irimya asked where they were going.

“To see an old friend,” Rylett replied.

~*~

The burnt boy Roklin sat behind the glass, alone in a sterile white room. He looked smaller than she remembered, gaunt and hungry sitting at the table, awaiting a dinner that would not come. His fur looked slick and patchy, regrowing ragged and thin where the fire had scarred him.

The chill of the viewing room sunk beneath the skin, the incessant drone of a loose fan rattling through the ventilation. Irimya paced back and forth behind Rylett, the confines of the CSC no doubt making her uncomfortable too.

“This is not what I had in mind when you suggested a day out,” the girl complained. “Mother will not be pleased…”

“I know,” Rylett said, “and I’m sorry to mislead you like this, but Damar would never have agreed.”

“Nor would I!” Irimya stomped the floor. “I do not want to help him. He made his choices.”

“But still, he needs help,” she told her. “Wait here.”

She left the girl in the adjoining room while, out in the hallway, the nauret guard—Hakesh—half-crouched. So massive was she that her frame overtook most of the passage, watching Rylett pass with alien, amber eyes. If she noticed the champion’s paw hovering over the handle for a moment, she said nothing.

Roklin looked up as Rylett entered, the door swinging shut with a well-defined clunk. The boy screwed up his snout. He was… quiet. The lad she had known yammered constantly, a bright, good-natured sort, but now he just sat there. Rylett wondered when the last time was that he saw a friendly face.

“Have you forgotten me?” she asked gently.

“No,” he murmured. “No, I remember.” He tilted his head forward, looking at her under a furrowed brow. “I suppose you want to know why.”

“Why? Why what?”

He glanced dejectedly around the room, shrugging. “Why I did it? It’s all anyone wants to know.” Rylett very much wanted to ask just that, but that didn’t exactly matter right now.

“Actually,” she said as she sat across from him, “I’m here to see how you are. Are you eating?”

Roklin screwed up his face again, picking at the back of a burnt paw. From where she sat she could see the raw tendons twitching beneath thin skin.

“That must be painful,” she murmured, gesturing to it. “Have they been treating you well?” The boy just looked at her sullenly. “I can help you if they aren’t.”

He scoffed. “Now you care…” he said quietly.

“I’ve always cared,” she told him.

“No, you didn’t. You never cared, Yotun was always your favourite. That or Imdi, always giving him extra, never looking at anyone else.”

“I…” Rylett frowned, stopping herself from rebuking him; he would only retreat further. “You’re right,” she said instead. ”I could have done more. But you only had to ask. And—albeit far too late—I am here now.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, “my life’s over.” Over? She wanted to drag him into a hug, then slap him for good measure, the stupid boy. He is all of seven years old, his life has barely begun!

“No, it’s not,” she whispered to him, leaning over the table. “I know it seems—”

Roklin slammed his chains against the table, the gesture only making him look meek. “You’ve seen the news!” he snapped at her. “Everyone thinks I’m a freak! Well, they’re right I guess.”

“I don’t,” she said. “Neither does Oryn for that matter. He thinks that this’s either his fault, or the fault of us adults for not looking out for you, or maybe even the government for how we treat the people caught in places like—,” she looked about the barren room, “—like this. In fact, just about the only person he doesn’t blame… is you.”

“Oryn’s an idiot,” he mumbled.

“He’s certainly brash, I’ll grant you. But he’s perceptive.” She sighed, running her paws across the edge of the table absently. “So then, who do you blame?” Roklin rolled his eyes, pulling lightly against his chains.

“You won’t want to hear it.”

Rylett shrugged, wanting to play this out. “Try me,” she said.

Roklin scrutinised her with dark little eyes. “If you’d seen the drawings he made—” he muttered at last. She said nothing; this room would be monitored, and Irimya was just behind the glass. The boy screwed up his snout, Rylett beginning to wonder if the gesture was entirely in his control.

“Yotun was deeply troubled, Roklin. He’s fought very hard to get better. But he’s gone now, and the roht is dead. It is over.”

“No, no it’s not. Yotun killed her.”

“Roklin…” Rylett winced. “It was an accident.”

“A predator attack? That no one’s seen for a hundred years? And then the inquest up and vanishes?” He scoffed. “And I’m the mad one, huh?”

“Roklin,” she said calmly but firmly. “I knew that girl very well. She was brilliant, one of the best students I ever had. I helped entomb her myself and stood vigil at her grave. The girl was killed by a predator, not a person.”

“Said you wouldn’t want to hear it,” Roklin said, looking dully at the table.

Rylett sighed, deflating. “What about your friends? Didn’t you talk to any of them?”

“I don’t have any friends.”

“I find that hard to believe. You were spending a lot of time with Irimya and the others that last year. Didn’t you talk to them?”

“Nyrra and Lollyn were bullies,” he mumbled. “Urèd was alright, even if he’s kinda… slow.”

“And Irimya?”

“Irimya was… nice but, she’s…” Roklin shrugged. “She wouldn’t care. They’re probably happier with me in here—”

The door swung open sharply, Irimya standing there on spindly legs. The two locked eyes.

“You’re an idiot,” she snorted angrily, and turned back down the hall.

Roklin recoiled as the door slammed shut, scooting back into his chair.

“Y-you brought her… here?” he stammered, looking at Rylett.

“It seems someone else still cares about you,” she said, standing. “We’ll talk again soon.”

Rylett had to fight herself not to look back at him as she left.

When she returned to the viewing room Irimya was seething, stomping about.

“Are you alright?” Rylett asked her student.

“Why did you bring me here?!” she whinnied, jabbing her own chest. “This place reeks of filth and madness! And him?! Just what kind of teacher are you?!”

“One who’s teaching right now,” Rylett said. “You wanted to know us. This is us at our worst.”

Through the window, Roklin had laid his head in the crook of his elbow and was making muffled sniffling sounds. Irimya stomped over to the glass, jammed a finger against the adjacent control pad to mute the room and sat against the wall with her back to the crying boy.

“You did well,” Rylett sighed. “Most people can’t bear to face something like that.”

“He’s a boy, boys are stupid,” the girl huffed, folding her legs beneath her. “It’d been better if he’d just run away.”

Rylett grunted, ambling over and sitting against the wall with her. “I don’t know much about nauret culture,” she admitted, “but that feels like an oversimplification.”

Irimya harrumphed in a strange, dry laugh. “What d’you know noke?” she said darkly. “Men run off. Grand-sire did it, and it cost him dearly! Mother doesn’t talk about my sire none, but I know he did the same. Mon-di-beck, Pardek would probably rid himself of us too if he could!”

Rylett felt she had struck a raw nerve; the man-of-house seemed loyal to a fault.

“What happened to him? Your grand-sire?” she asked. Irimya kept one wide eye on her.

“Pyq. I was young, I try not to remember.” There was a long pregnant silence. “Is it true? This other boy, Yotun, he was drawing these horrid little pictures?”

Rylett sighed wearily. “That’s not for me to say. He was treated here for a time and has since managed to overcome the brutal loss of his closest friend before his very eyes. That is… no small feat.”

There was another long silence. “Why do you care about this stupid boy?” Irimya brayed at last. “He set a fire! Nearly killed people!”

“We all make mistakes, Irimya. We have to move past them, or they’ll destroy us.” The alien snorted derisively, looking away. Rylett curled her paw into a fist. “I lost my family to them too, you know. The pyq.” She spat the word with enough venom to make the girl glance back. “I was the boyish one who ran away, and it cost me everything.”

Irimya ground her flat teeth, flicking one ear, but the champion could see her words land. “You brought me here for more than just a day trip,” she said tightly. “You needed him to see me.”

Rylett nodded slowly, permitting her a smile of approval. “And you needed to see him. I think we all need a splash of cold water from time to time.”

The door opened with a sharp groan, Tyranora stepping through. Her dark pelt was still polished to a fine sheen, but the drawn lines about her face told of long hours without rest.

“Champion,” she drawled in her thick, raspy voice. “Do you travel with a bodyguard now?”

“Alas, no,” Rylett said lightly as she stood, “The nauret are with me.”

“Whoever they are they’re blocking my hall,” Tyra muttered with a sharp, but good-natured jab. She nodded toward the glass. “That’s a strong method. Are you sure he can take it?”

“I… I don’t know,” Rylett admitted. “He’s suffered too much already. But right now, he’s blaming everyone else. He needs to be reminded he’s complicit in his own hurting.”

“That could isolate him further.” Tyra replied carefully, gesturing with a sidelong glance through the window.

That’s true enough, Rylett supposed, glancing at the boy still sniffling in the next room. ‘You never cared,’ he had said. Is he right? Was I so focused on Yotun that I couldn’t see the need in front of me? Irimya was no longer seething with anger, she seemed withdrawn and quiet, not looking at anyone. Goddess… am I doing it again with her?

Tyra nodded, but still grimaced. “Public cases are always difficult. We’ll wait and see if your words reached him.” She looked past Rylett to the girl. “Both of you.”

“Of course,” Rylett said as Irimya looked away. “It was a relief to be invited.”

“Invited?” Tyra said, tilting her head. “Didn’t you request approval?”

“I… I was invited, a request for consultation, signed by yourself?” The psychologist was frowning so hard her face creased into deep lines. “Or…” Rylett murmured, “…perhaps… a clerical error?”

“Perhaps,” Tyra replied, shaking the thought away. “Well, I’ll keep in touch anyway. I hope his condition will improve as Oryn’s trial progresses.”

Rylett sucked bitterly through her teeth. “Has Roklin found a representative yet?”

“No,” Tyra murmured. “The case is drawing a lot of political heat. Most don’t want it.”

“What about Redan?”

“Redan?” Tyra blinked slowly at the priestess. “You didn’t hear?”

“Didn’t hear what?”

Tyra held her breath for a moment. “He’s dead,” she said simply.

“Dead?” Rylett shook her head, dumbfounded. The man was overweight, certainly, but otherwise was a lively—if gruff—soul.

“Heart attack,” the psychologist said, frowning like she did not quite believe it either. She looked from Irimya back to Rylett again. “Would you come with me for a moment?” She gestured to Irimya without awaiting a response. “Alone?”

The nauret seemed more than happy to leave the radji to their devices, Irimya still giving Rylett a polite bow before following Hakesh back to the vehicle. Rylett hoped she had not burned a bridge.

The doctor led her away from the observation sector. They passed from red painted walls, to blue, then green, but still the winding passages of the CSC tended to blur together. Tyra brought her into what was clearly a ward; the softly lit area containing a smattering of gurneys, and carefully placed disposable gloves, masks, and shawls, and any spare corner full of tightly stacked boxes.

Tyra quickly ushered her into an adjacent room with thick, drawn curtains. Soft lights flickered on as she shut the door behind her. Within was a hospital bed linked to a display, a few scattered chairs around a bedside table, and a large window, with a modest view of the smattering of clouds hanging about the city beyond. A little girl with fiery red fur lay in the bed, her long curls framing her impassive face. A small strip of medical tape had been adhered to one temple, but otherwise she seemed to be at rest.

Tyra blinked slowly as Rylett glanced at her quizzically, pulling the door shut behind them. “Her name’s Aletra,” she said, answering the silent question. “She’s been a patient here for several years.”

“A long-term patient?” Rylett murmured, folding her paws. “I see.”

Tyra gestured about emptily. “I’m not at liberty to comment on what her condition is, but… it is difficult for her to deal with, and for us to treat, so we induce a coma at regular intervals when her symptoms become severe. But now I’ve pulled her off the treatment entirely.”

“Why?”

Tyra moved to the bedside. “Because she’s Redan’s daughter.”

“His… his daughter?” Rylett looked again at the sleeping figure. She certainly didn’t look like him. “I… I didn’t know.”

Tyra shook her head, running a gentle palm over the sleeping girl’s forehead. “He didn’t advertise it. Wanted her to have a normal life. He split from his partner some time ago. From what I understand, she doesn’t want to have anything to do with them.”

Rylett sat in one of the nearby chairs, rubbing her heavy eyelids. “Well, she’ll have to wake up sooner or later.”

“She won’t. No matter what I try. Medically speaking there’s nothing to keep her asleep, but for some reason she won’t wake up.”

“You can’t… force her awake?”

“It’s… not so simple,” Tyra sighed. “The brain is an extremely complex organ. Comas… aren’t like sleeping. Sleeping is like sailing down a river. There’s a current, the bends can wind about, but you can always head to shore and… wake up. But being in a coma is… it’s like being adrift at sea. Sometimes you’re becalmed, sometimes there’s a squall, and sometimes you find land, but you… you have to want to wake up.”

There was a pile of comic books sat on her bedside table, Rylett gingerly picking one up.

“These were hers?” she asked, a quiet certainty overtaking the priestess. “She was… in the room when he…”

Tyra nodded sadly. “He read to her every night.” She rubbed the girl’s paw gently, then pulled away, picking up her clipboard.

“Well, I thank you for your work today, Priestess,” she said quickly, scribbling something down on the notepad. “But I have a lot on my plate…”

“Oh, uh… of course,” Rylett said as she stood.

“I’ll keep you apprised of Roklin’s condition.” Tyranora ripped the page away, thrusting it into Rylett’s paw as she shook it. “My contact details. Please, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Certainly,” Rylett told her. “If I can at all help, I’d be happy to.”

Tyra gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, in a way that unsettled the priestess. It had seemed sincere but wounded. It was only in the elevator back to the car that she bothered to look at Tyra’s note.

Redan was looking into Oryn too. Be careful.

~*~

Rylett returned to the forest as soon as she could. The blizzard had relented after three days, blown south from a burst of heat to the north. Winter would grip all the tighter once it returned, but for now there was a blue sky and a light lick of warmth when the wind relented.

It was a little chilled walking beneath the trees, a thin layer of frost crunching into hard-packed dirt. Rylett was not sure if it was wise travelling this close to the coast road, not since Roklin and the fire. But Ki-yu had been adamant, insisting on seeing more of the old wood—Rylett supposed the girl could vanish well enough into the shadows between trees in a moment should the situation call for it.

Long ago she would have agreed with Mirna, and said that the Brackwood was a grim, insidious place best avoided. But slowly, she was beginning to know the place, to see its denizens as familiar. The trees around the lodge this strange family called home were ripbark, with its stringy, stripping bark and twisting, gnarled limbs. Deeper, into the narrow gorges and gullies of the foothills, those trees were sparser, overtaken by a thickened understory ripe with bitter fruits and berries, and the little refuges of retans with their pale wood. Further east, north of the lake where the ground grew flat, was a great swath of merryling trees; grey and still, it was a quiet, eerie place. When Mirna had called the Brackwood foreboding, that was what she no doubt imagined.

But here, to the west, there was no menace, only awe. The woodwaifs stood like immense sturdy sentinels with a little puff of canopy high above, all too broad to wrap one’s arms around. The whisper of distant waves, and slightest breeze—the direction of the sea could be felt, known abstractly without being told. Little green fronds grew at their ankles, springing forth from a forgiving, fragrant floor, littered with the hair-thin leaves of the giant waifs.

The name tickled Rylett as she placed a palm upon one of the trees. Hundreds of kinds of lichens, moss, and worworts fought with one another over any free space the trees could afford. This little floral war was found only here along the coast, where the sea air carried sufficient moisture. It gave the trees a strange fur coat, and when one put their snout right up to it, each a different one too, wholly unique to each. Rylett could easily imagine why the first people of this ancient wood thought the trees to be strange, silent gods.

Ki-yu traipsed along with her, humming a tune Rylett couldn’t name. The girl padded along beside her as she was wont to do. Rylett had come to prefer that: at least she wasn’t a head above her, even if her shoulders did crest well above the Priestess’s waist. Wrapped tightly in her woollen poncho, she stopped here and there to point out little marks, or leaves, or smells the radji couldn’t quite share in. They turned over a stone to find two shadow monitors huddled close together, so deep in torpor they might well have been rocks themselves. Ki-yu delicately replaced the stone with a happy little chirrup and led them onward.

It felt, Rylett had decided, like she lived a double life. What would Irimya have thought had she known just what was within that costume? she wondered. What would Mirna think, if she too met this darkling? It was… a strange kind of trial, she had found herself in. She had failed her mandate to pursue Oryn, then lied to her First, her oldest friend; a lie by omission, perhaps, but a mistruth, nonetheless. That stunt with Irimya could have gone poorly… The pyq helmet atop Damar’s fireplace swam up in her mind. It was barbarous, but… even now, if she could have gotten her paws on the creature that took her Carcos…

Ki-yu was humming that nameless tune. Rylett supposed she must have made it up herself.

“Do you believe in the Goddess, Ki-yu?” Rylett asked as they walked.

The girl paused her tune. “I… I guess?” she murmured. “Should… should I not?”

“Well, that’s up to you. Some people don’t.”

Ki-yu’s snout bunched up, clearly thinking hard. “I don’t understand,” she decided. “Didn’t she make the pyre?”

Rylett chuckled. Sometimes she forgot that despite her size, Ki-yu was still so young. “Well, there’s different kinds of truth, child.” They paused in a patch of sunlight, the warmth more than welcome. “The pyre is a star, Ki-yu, you know this.”

“Called Ōthur,” she nodded. “A star that’s closer.”

“A long time ago we didn’t have telescopes. We didn’t understand who we were in the universe, so we told stories to try and make sense of it all. Now… Now we know what it is, but we keep the story anyway. For some people, the world is enough.”

Ki-yu scratched at the ground idly, pushing about the dirt. “So, is it real or is it just a story?”

“I don’t think it matters,” Rylett said, starting them off between the trees again. “I think we all tell our own stories. Perhaps the boy was right–,” she shrugged, “–we were… I was blind to Roklin’s torment because of my focus on the others. Helping you, helping Yotun…” Ki-yu’s snout turned down at the mention of the boy’s name.

“Have you heard from him?” Ki-yu asked, rising up onto two legs. “He said he’d try to write, but I haven’t heard from him…” She crossed her arms beneath her poncho, an awkward, anxious gesture.

“Moving to Caiyu is no small thing,” Rylett said evenly. “I’m sure he misses you too.”

“I… I suppose so. Thanks, I guess it just…” She pivoted quickly. “It shouldn’t bother me, like I’ve been alone before, but… I dunno.”

“Ki-yu, he’s the only real friend you’ve ever had. It’s… natural for you to feel his absence.”

“That’s true,” she murmured, smiling. “Well, other than you.”

Rylett patted her shoulder. “Oh, don’t be sweet.”

Ki-yu stopped mid-laugh, her dark head turning quickly. In the next instant she was off into the brush. Before Rylett could truly react, there was a squealing sound and a crunch. Ki-yu returned a moment later, trotting forward with a fiirit between her jaws. The pyq shook the limp animal in her jaws raggedly, swallowing it in two quick bites, before looking up at her.

Rylett had not seen her kill quite so readily before, and certainly not in her presence. The suddenness of the violence startled her for a moment, but she felt herself calm in a way that was almost surprising. Ki-yu’s demeanour, however, quickly went from calm to perplexed, before arriving on a muted moment of horror.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry–” she stammered, turned her back to the priestess. “I didn’t mean… oh, that was stupid!”

“Ki-yu–”

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

“Ki-yu,” Rylett said softly, putting a paw on her shoulder and turning her around. Ki-yu looked down at her with confused eyes, a smear of blue smudged across her jaw. “It’s okay.”

“I-I don’t… I don’t know why I did that…” she said in a quiet voice. “I… I should have had more control.”

“Why? You know you need to eat.”

“I… I don’t want to… to scare you…”

Rylett felt strangely proud of her compassion. “I’ve told you before, you don’t scare me, child,” she sighed. “Don’t hurt yourself for what you are, Ki-yu. Not on my account.”

The girl nodded and seemed to settle. They walked in a sombre silence through the trees, and after a time the humming started anew, although it seemed far less tuneful than before.

They came to a fallen log—some smaller tree that had failed to take root between the waifs—well riddled with moss and fungus upon which they sat and rested for a while. Ki-yu still seemed distracted, looking down at her feet.

“The other day… you asked about the First Champion,” Rylett offered, “and I shied away. The truth is that after I lost my husband and son… Mirna was a good friend in dark times. Then she was a comfort. And then I… well. We both agreed to go our separate ways, but… I suppose I feel nervous about her.”

“Does she matter to you?” Ki-yu asked.

Rylett paused, glancing at the girl curiously. “I’m sorry?” she said softly.

“You talk about her very seriously,” Ki-yu said quietly. “She must mean something to you.” The maturity of the comment taken with the sensitivity of her behaviour turned something in Rylett’s mind. She stared at the pyq.

Ki-yu sensed her watching, turning to her. “What?” she murmured, still sheepish. Rylett gently reached out and took ahold of her narrow chin. Ki-yu didn’t resist as she turned her head this way and that, just peering back at her as Rylett looked at the shape of the snout, the wideness of the jaw—looking and remembering. She took the girls paw, spreading their palms together. Suddenly she was back in that blackened bedroom, awaking to find her nightmare turned real.

“Hm,” Rylett said at last, curious and proud and trembling with anxiety. “You’re growing up.”

Ki-yu blinked slowly as Rylett released her. “Is that okay?” she whispered.

Rylett brushed some dirt from the girl’s scaly shoulder and gave her a short smile that did naught but make herself feel soft.

“It’s only change,” she said.

A cool breeze rose up through the trees, enough to make her shiver.

---

“There is no such thing as a true tale. Truth has many faces, and the truth is like the old road to Avalon; it depends on your own will, and your own thoughts […]. Even the Lady of the Lake, who hated a priest’s robe as she would have hated a poisonous viper, […] chid me once for speaking evil of their God.

‘For all the Gods are one God,’ she said to me then, as she had said many times before, […] ‘and all the Goddesses are one Goddess, and there is only one Initiator. And to every man his own truth, and the God within.’”

– Morgana le Fey, The Mists of Avalon by Marion Bradley, 1983.