Chapter 1.
“How old are you, sickling?” The bartender sized her up from head to toe. He was a tall, muscular man yet he barely reached Kwora’s chin with the top of his head.
“How old do you think I am, grandpa?” Kwora scoffed. The man couldn’t be much older than forty, but that meant 160 seasons for a Feyling like her, and at that age, her people were already way beyond the grave.
“Old enough to drink ale, I guess,” he shrugged. She was thirty-one seasons old, the equivalent in human years.
The inn was dimly lit with a few candles and lamps running low on oil. Kwora pulled her hood down to cover half of her head, while a handmade scarf covered the other half, yet the bartender immediately called her sickling. A tremendously hilarious human pun based on the skin of the native Feylings, that ranged from jade-green to a topaz-yellow.
“Good.” Kwora smiled under her scarf. “But I don’t want that disgusting piss you enjoy so much. Do you have some tea?”
As the muscular man walked off to check behind the counter the Feyling woman took her time to look around the room. Although the locale was almost full, her eyes instantly locked on three natives sitting at the same table in a corner. They were watching her as well. One of them, a male with a quite attractive curl to his horns, opened the palm of his hand on the table and turned it towards her. A silent question: are you alright? Do you need help?
Kwora gently brushed her chest in response: I’m fine. The bartender came back with two satchels of herbs that he threw on the counter. One smelled horrible, like a carcass of an animal that has been dead for weeks. The other one just looked abysmal: instead of tea leaves, it resembled more the brown tickets they sold for the human ferry.
“Haikalee or normal green tea?” The man asked.
“There is no way that shit is Haikalee!” Kwora gestured at the ferry tickets. It was an open offense to the Feylings. Haikalee was the name of the easternmost region of the island. A place known for its thriving Feyling communities, mostly untouched by the settlers because of the wild canyons surrounding it.
“You either drink this, or you turn your sick face and leave.” The man furrowed his brows at her. “But you stop insulting my goods right now. I don’t care what fancy tea you were spoiled on, but this is what we drink. This is what normal people drink.”
Kwora had to take a few deep breaths before pointing at the tap to request a simple glass of water. There had been a time when she would have punched the disgusting human in the nose, or grabbed him across the counter and threw him out of the window. And she wouldn’t even have needed the help of those three Feylings at the table.
That was many seasons ago. She had learned her lesson. She had lost her horns. There was nothing else the humans could take away from her now, only her life was left. That’s why Kwora grabbed her glass of water with an annoyed nod, placed a couple of black seeds on the counter as payment, and turned back to inspect the room once again.
One thing was certain: as soon as she stepped into the inn, Kwora knew she hated it. It was awfully lit, cramped, and everything reeked of humans. That irritatingly unique smell of greed and repressed anger that only Feylings could smell and only settlers emanated was omnipresent. It reminded her of her youth when that smell would drive her crazy. Now it was part of her miserable daily life.
A young woman with short dark hair and a clean white shirt cleared her throat as she leaned against the counter. Kwora had to glance down to meet her eyes ready to receive another insult or veiled comment on her appearance, but the woman just tilted her head and smiled.
“I thought you were taller,” she said. “They described you as ‘freakishly huge’ but I’d say you are just below average for a Feyling, am I right?”
Kwora gaped at her in confusion. Fortunately, her scarf hid most of her tattoo-covered face. It’s not that she hadn’t encountered a polite human before, it’s just that she wasn’t expecting it to find one in a place like this.
“Yeah, I’m just your average Feyling. But a lot of people I deal with piss themselves at the sight of a bigger Ironfly.” Kwora made herself a place in the new hybrid society by accompanying merchants and traders from one human settlement to the other through the aggressive and dangerous wilderness of Uhula. “You, however, are not my average customer, are you?”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
The young woman grinned and called the bartender over to buy two shots of something only humans drank.
“How did you know I was your new customer?” She asked.
“Somebody described me to you, which means you requested my services.” Kwora was the best Feyling escort from here to Silverhold or Thornful Valley, and she knew it. There was no need to be humble about it. “I’m usually the first name that comes up when somebody wants to travel north from here.”
“Well, there goes my cover.” The young woman snorted, as she also pulled out a handful of black seeds from her purse to pay for the drinks. “Enjoy.” She said, nodding at the deep brown liquor served on the counter in front of them.
Kwora almost threw up as she accidentally leaned over the two little glasses. The stench was unbearable. How can humans live so long? She gulped forcefully and drank what was left of her water before the sweet wild berries she had for lunch had a chance to come up again.
“I don’t…” She covered her mouth with her scarf as quickly as possible. “I don’t drink your kind of poisons. I doubt any Feyling does. How is it that you don’t know it? I hope you are not messing with me.”
The young woman fixed her dark eyes on her. An interesting glimmer lit them for a second, then she scoffed and shrugged.
“I’m fairly new to Uhula,” she said, chugging down the first drink. “And you are the first native that I’m talking to.”
Silence fell between them. The bartender wandered towards the back of his inn where he set an old, rusty radio in motion. The bronze mechanism growled disapprovingly before spreading dissonant harmonies through the locale. Jazz, the humans call it. Kwora closed her eyes for a few seconds to enjoy the melody. The vibrating sound of brass instruments filled the steamy room. The Feylings sitting at the table raised their heads and closed their eyes, picking up at the pleasant vibrations the music gave through their horns. Kwora also felt a warm sensation prickle down her neck but not as far as strong as when she still had her beautiful horns.
“So…” She said, with her eyes still closed. “What are the details?”
“Four passengers,” The young woman responded, pulling the second drink closer to her. “And one quite heavy package.”
“What is the package?”
The woman tsked and swung her short black hair in front of her eyes creating that weird, silly look that humans found so mysterious. “I thought you were a professional. Why so many questions?”
“I am a guide, an escort,” Kwora opened her eyes. “Not a smuggler. What is the package?”
The young woman’s dark eyes pierced her under her veil of hair. Humans will not drag me into their shady businesses. So far, shady human businesses weren’t part of her life and she was not intent on breaking that streak now.
“Ugh,” her new customer growled as a spoiled newborn denied of her favorite toy. “It’s batteries, Feyling. Just batteries. Energy supplies for Silverhold’s new lighting system.”
“Good, thank you. And the passengers?” Kwora saw that the young woman was about to protest again, so she quickly specified. “I don’t need to know names or details. Will they cause me problems in the wild? Are they going to scream and panic at their own shadow?”
“Oh,” she hummed pensively, gulping down the second drink. “There is me, and two tough workers who will not give you any trouble. We do have a scientist, though. You know, all brains and no muscles.” She gestured ironically to her head. Kwora smiled under her scarf. As if this kid has the muscles to back this comment up. “But we can keep an eye on him.”
“Perfect,” Kwora sighed and looked at the two empty glasses in front of the young woman. “We can leave at dawn if you are done with the preparations. It will be a four-day journey.”
Silverhold was the northernmost human settlement, yet it wasn’t even close to being halfway to the other end of Uhula. Kwora could easily walk there in under two days with a few stops to refresh her supplies along the way and barely any sleep. With a group of five people - four of which were humans - and a heavy package it was a different story.
“Dawn it is.” The young woman nodded. “Let’s meet at the Fire Square and--”
“We’ll meet at the Wired Gate. At dawn. Don’t be late.” And with that, Kwora nodded to her customer, exchanged a glance with the Feyling with the curly horns at the table, and left the inn.
The Fire Square would have also worked as a place to meet, it didn’t really matter. But that young woman sassed Kwora around so much that she felt like having the last word. The summer heat mixed with the steam coming out of the mechanisms on which the human settlement was built reminded Kwora to be thankful that Feylings did not sweat.
This inn was fancier than the ones she was used to, so she could look down on almost the entirety of Mudpit from the upper walkway that she stood on. The small city was built in a dirty valley by the sea where the humans first set foot on Uhula, expanding outwards and upwards like a big soup bowl as the population grew. Down at the bottom of the pit the air was always steamy and almost unbreathable since every major power unit had to be placed there at their arrival, while the cleaner, upper-class districts were built on bronze and iron walkways along the edges of the valley, such as the one Kwora was standing on.
She waited a couple of minutes, hoping that the male sitting at the table would show up to offer her a much needed refreshing night. What am I thinking? Kwora! You are not them! Feylings respected and glorified mating, but ever since she had lost her horns Kwora found it difficult to connect deeply with anyone of her kind. On some days she wished a male would walk up to her and seduce her for one night as some humans did. Just one single night of mating, and nothing more.
She lowered her knitted scarf and rubbed her eyes to regain composure before walking to the closest wired elevator. She had a journey to plan.