Nemia withdrew with a small smile, submerging once more into the depths of her pool, massive hands the last to sink, bubbling sluggishly into the thick surface. ‘Well done, little sister,’ Atzi commended, the older harpy aliting next to Objo with a slightly ungainly step, her golden wings settling against her back. Originally a golden pheasant, the woman’s red chest shone iridescent in the murky light of the cavern. High priestess of their flock, Atzi was Nemia’s first born, the oldest and first of her thirteen acolytes.

‘Must be easy when your original bird form is so well suited to hunting. Some of us have to actually work for our kills,’ Ooi murmured, her resentful voice just in hearing range. Objo tried not to scowl at her, she wasn’t at fault for her natural affinities, and she refused to let Ooi shame her for them.

There were among the harpies a range of strategies for collecting the witches. The ground bound birds, Vaara the cassowary with brilliant blue skin and dark feathers, Bia the great roadrunner who sported speckled wings and a tuft of feathers emerging from her forehead, and Atzi the golden pheasant, all ran down their prey. The song bird Asil, a violet-backed starling her plumes a brilliant amethyst, enthralls her witches with an otherworldly voice, whereas Imita the lyre bird with a single long, curved and striped tail quill, surrounded by wispy white feathers, mimicked other witches’ voices to coax out her prey from their coven. Viline the marvelous spatuletail her chest of iridescent blue feathers and a unique fanned feather emerging from a long thin quill in her tail, as well as Ooi the resplendent quetzal, her green wings tipped in black, both tempt their game with flashing wings and enticing dance. Similarly, Iloin the secretary bird, orange markings around her eyes and a crest of spiky black feathers, captured her prey with a whirling, violent dance, tiring them until they succumbed to her. The fishing birds, Altul the great egret, sleek and white, and Daich the scarlet ibis, the same but in rosy red, both walk among the sleeping witches and spear fish, whereas Leiden, the weaver with a chest of cheerful yellow, built traps. It was unclear to Objo how Hrae, the king vulture hunted, whose eyes were an unearthly and guarded silver and whose face was fractured with a lichtenberg scar from when she risked a storm flight.

Objo did recognize her advantage. Compared with her sisters she was most suited to their god given task, but that just meant that their goddess’ was granted more witches for judgment, it wasn’t a reflection on her harpy sisters’ abilities. She huffed, refusing to engage the bitter bird. Atzi shot Ooi a disparaging glance, but said nothing to counter her point. Turning back to Objo she offered a comforting smile, ‘let’s celebrate your twentieth retrieval!’ Several harpies shrieked in excitement, the low hoarse voice of Hrae the vulture among their eerie chorus.

They flew as a motley flock to a deeper chamber, the ground bound birds running in their wake, the pattering choir of their feet echoing. The tunnels were less dark here, despite being deeper in the depths of the volcano, the walls were lined with volcanic glass reflecting warm orange light, keeping their pathway alit. Down, down they went, and then deeper still. The tunnel widened, before suddenly opening into a large chamber, the ceiling high above them. Dangling nests created by Leiden the Village weaver bird, swung from varying heights above, accessible by thin winding trails in the rocks for those ground bound.

‘Let’s revel!’ shrieked Viline, the marvelous spatuletail, as she emerged from the tunnel, soaring high above the others to twirl in the air. Her acrobatics were an impressive display that she was uniquely able to perform, thrumming wings beating faster and faster. She twisted nimbly around their shared nests, darting into hers briefly to grab several long iridescent strips of fabric. She continued her agile flight, draping them from wall to wall, adding cheer to their room. Daich, the scarlet ibis, clamored up the narrow pathways along the walls to her own nest, dragging out long ropes of cured fish, tossing several out to her sisters before bringing down the strands to share with the rest. Imita the lyre bird brought out her harp, strumming it experimentally before breaking into a boisterous song, the words something arcane and indecipherable. Ooi and Iloin, the secretary bird, immediately broke into dance, twisting and turning such that their feathers spun out around them, catching the light, Ooi’s long green tail trailing behind her beguilingly. Though Ooi was beautiful to watch, her feathers as brilliant as gems, Iloin was the better dancer, and could dance for hours on end without pause.

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The bacchanalia continued well into the night, though Atzi and Hrae, the king vulture retreated to their shared nest, after making conspicuous bedroom eyes at each other across the flames of the fire that the birds had erected in the room’s center, a volcanic vent whisking away the smoke in the high ceiling. The pair often coupled high in the sky, Hrae carrying Atzi in her arms when she couldn’t fly any higher, before falling to earth as they intertwined, but room was limited in the deep caverns of the volcano. They were well matched, the regal and mysterious Hrae and the quiet dignity of Atzi.

With Atzi retired, Vaara the cassowary brought out her contribution to the evening; an assortment of substances for her sisters’ indulgence. She gleefully passed out her contraband. Laddeled from a thick jar came a fizzy drink that gave buoyancy to the ground bound birds. Bia the great roadrunner quickly threw back the drink without hesitation. She giggled, slightly delirious, a side effect of the beverage, before leaping from the ground, spreading out her wings to slow her descent further as she floated back to the floor. The other birds laughed raucously, delighted as Bia jumped about, bouncing off walls as she enjoyed the effects.

Vaara doled out eye drops to those birds that had remained in her vicinity, a glittery viscous fluid in an ornate delicate vial, shaped after the flower the nectar was harvested from. The flower’s anatomically correct pistol was pulled out to be used as a pipette to administer the eye drops. ‘Oh Vaara! You’re all, all scattered’ Altul the great egret exclaimed, the usually haughty bird rendered almost incomprehensible. Altul looked around with wide eyes, taking in the fractaled world around her.

Bia bounced down, eager to join the others with the next imbibement, her speckled wings flapping around her. Objo watched her warily. Bia was always the first to drink the buoyant drink, often drinking to excess, to a point of delirium that required her sisters’ help. Objo had tried bringing up her concerns with Vaara, naively hoping the other woman would restrict Bia’s access, but Vaara had just brushed her off, claiming the other bird was an adult and could make her own choices. Objo understood her perspective, to some extent, but they were sisters, shouldn’t one of them care enough to say something? She wasn’t hurting anyone but herself, exactly, but seeing her careless of her own well being twisted something inside Objo. It felt selfish to try to soothe that part of herself that hurt with her sister’s actions, like she was taking Bia’s addiction and making it about herself, but she couldn’t change how she felt. And everytime Bia rejected Objo’s suggestions to slow down, to maybe drink a little less, everytime Bia snarked that Objo was such a buzzkill, she withered a little inside. She cared, she just really cared.

Her musing was interrupted by Vaara’s call, ‘you too, Objo?’ she offered, the pipette poised for her use as well. The nectar was a group favorite, its visual effects fractaling the world around them, but allowing the user to also see an aura around other beings, loosely corresponding to one’s emotions. It allowed the flock to see each others’ energy, their feelings, before an individual was even aware of it themselves. It allowed for a ripples of emotion to move throughout the group, as they riffed off each others’ energies. The synchronicity was even more pronounced when they flew together while on nectar, their flight patterns aligning, making smooth murmurations in the sky.

‘Hey! Hey! I have some news!’ Asil said, as she stopped her dancing with Iloin and Ooi to join the growing group surrounding Vaara. Iloin continued to twirl to Imita’s song, but Ooi looked over at her departed sister curiously. Asil wrapped a violet clawed hand around Objo and Vaara and leaned into them, as if what she was about to say was an exciting secret, though she made no efforts to lower her voice, her eyes alight with excitement. ‘I heard something from the witch I’m working on enthralling, she was talking about a celebration coming up, a massive ritual that witches from all over will come to! So, I was thinking, why not organize! We could all go together! Hunt them down as a group! It could be so fun, we could catch so many if we all work together. What do you say?’ It was an idea with merit, Objo thought, looking around at the speculative eyes of her sisters, some more interested than others. It could be a good opportunity to help some of them make their first catches, to boost their confidence and give some subtle tips that wouldn’t ruffle anyones’ feathers. ‘Let’s do it,’ she said boldly.