25

(Dokken- Breaking the Chains)

Adam

I was useless again. I wish I wasn’t but I don’t know what to do. How to help when tempers are like that. Everyone usually just thinks I’m condescending because I don’t lose my head that easily, and that would have been the last thing we needed then. If I’d have done something, said something loud enough, would it have stopped Simira?

Once again inside the cozy interior of Geren’s house, I sat cross legged, sewing a button to the back of Vetia’s shirt so her wings could fit through the tear without falling off. Geren was in the back of the house pumping water into a bucket so Desmond could clean his eyes.

Thankfully, Geren was also pretty big, so he had longer needles that fit my hands. “Your back’s probably gonna be cold, but this is the best I can do with what we have.”

“-ank,” she slurred back.

Desmond frowned at us from across the room, sitting in Geren’s slightly oversized workbench chair. “When the fuck did you learn to sew?”

“Young Marines.”

“Your weekly bootlicking sessions?”

“It was a lot less bootlicking and a lot more of guys who were on the autism spectrum and slash or obsessed with military history, skills, and tactics.”

“Ah, so a boog meetup.”

“Yeah, sure,” I sarcasted. I couldn’t tell if he was just making fun of me or wasn’t paying attention to what I was saying. “Anyways, I had to sew shit onto my uniforms and hem them and we couldn’t afford a sewing machine.”

Vetia twisted around and slapped my hand. “I ah one. You inn ehw me!”

I squinted at her. “Huh? You had one?”

She rolled her eyes and then slurred something indecipherably quickly.

Desmond offered his great wisdom on the matter. “Slow down Walt Jr, nobody’s got a clue what you’re saying.”

I shrugged at her, ignoring Desmond. “Eh, can’t do anything about it now.”

The door at the back of the room creaked open and Geren waddled in, placing a bucket of water and a rag in front of Desmond.

Desmond nodded to Geren. “Buenos gracias.”

Geren turned away stutteringly at the odd phrase, but then presented Vetia with a gray slate tablet and a red chalk-like rock. She quickly scrawled away a message to him. It was strange seeing her write in this new language, Triali, because its letters wrote similarly to cursive or Arabic, but from low to high, left to right. She finished writing and then blinked, staring between the tablet with cleanly written characters and the chalk that she wrote them so easily with. We shared a look of surprise and interest before she turned it toward Geren.

Mother Yeline said you could tell me about sevoans

A smile crept across Geren’s fleshy beak. “The Mother would notice… such an oddity. Sevoan woman… how are you called? What den are you of?” Geren stared inquisitively at Vetia, but with even greater fervor than he had with any of us.

She quizzically squinted at that last part.

Vetia. I didn’t come from a cave. I lived in Boston with my friends.

Geren tilted his head at me. “She lived in Boston? When did she arrive?”

I looked at Desmond for some help, but his eyes were buried in the rag. We had filled her in on our cover story, but hadn’t really made more up. “Erm… we met her when we were ten. She came from England.”

Geren turned his attention back to the poorly held up lie with a chalkboard. “What is your age? What is England?”

21. England is a real shithole across the pond from Boston. My parents hated it, so we left when I was young

Geren leaned forward like a ravenous researcher on the verge of a jackpot. “You have memories… of life before fireblood? This is rare.”

She pondered the question for a moment, seemingly unsure of what exactly he meant.

I’ve been like this since I came into this world. Haven’t needed to drink blood until I started sigils

“Natural born… sevoan fireblood… capable of sigils.” Geren spoke like he didn’t believe the words he was saying. “I witnessed sigil… not a trick.” He was speechless and in deep thought.

What is a sevoan?

“Sevoan is you. Consume spirit… from living. Sevoans weaker… deceptive… easily concealed. Controlled hunger… controlled actions… controlled body. Cannot harvest limbs. Consume blood by skin… ingest by touch… and by mouth. Fireblood limbs… may be hidden… but adaptive.”

Fireblood limbs?

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Additional arms… claws, teeth… brought on by… metamorphosis… into fireblood. Often contain poison.”

Is that why I have the wings, tail and horns?

The intrigue faded from Geren’s face. “Those appendages… from lonsu parent. Are you not part lonsu?”

What is a lonsu?

What was once interest turned into subtle skepticism. “People of mountains. Scales, wings, horns, tails… though similar… to jorlad. Natural talent for… thermal jzanmah. Tell me of parents. Are you of healing line?”

Ralph, my dad, was one of the lonsu. Lauren, my mom, was human. No jzanmah on either side

“What race of human?”

Her face grew more confused and slightly frustrated.

Just regular people from England

Geren sighed like he was talking to a toddler.

“What humans live in England? Are they not lonsu and jorlad?”

She had a small epiphany as her face softened.

Yes, she was a jorlad human

Geren’s frustration dissipated, and leaned in for one final interrogation.

“How many people… have you killed?”

She shook her head and slurred something, frustrated and scribbling angrily.

Nobody. Mother Yeline fed me the old organs and limbs during the fireblood surgeries. But that’s it. I’m not eating anyone else. I’ll hunt for animals if I have to. I’m not gonna kill anyone

She hesitated, writing “unless” at the end, then wiped it away. He stared into her eyes like he was reading every little piece of body language and minute twitch. As if he was back in a time where he was questioning a deceptive, murderous fireblood.

Geren leaned away and shook his head. “Optimistic fireblood. Not the first. Not the last. All will kill… as is your nature. Like a felled tree… knocking other trees… every tiny act… of violence… pulls fireblood lower. You will fall. Then you will die.”

Vetia set the tablet and chalk down, then slouched back against the wall and ran her fingers over her tail sullenly. Desmond finally finished scrubbing himself, blowing water and snot out of his nose and into the bucket. He didn’t really pay any mind to the mucus that splattered all over the floor and Geren’s chair. He finally cleared his throat and decided to join the conversation.

“Hey G, you got a good nose, right? How’d you not get stink bombed?”

Geren side-eyed the still beet red Desmond. “I am yeffen. Muscles plug nose… simple as closing eyes. Jorlad lack nose muscles.”

“Can’t give any advice on how to deal with it?”

Geren’s eyes slowly passed over the three of us like he was quickly and expertly reading our intentions. “Advice is given to… the honest.” Nobody responded as his face grew darker. “You know naught of me… yet you deceive… with no hesitance. No understanding. I advise… you learn one before… you deceive one.”

His ragged breaths sounded closer to growls now. His demeanor was unchanged, but his presence in the room became stifling.

Vetia looked down to distance herself from Geren’s piercing eyes, so Desmond picked up the conversation. “Listen, G, we’re not, like, lying-”

I cut Desmond off and sat up straight, looking Geren straight on. “We are lying. But not entirely. Everything we’ve said is true, but it doesn’t make sense because… none of it is real anymore. I don’t know how to describe it in a way that doesn’t make us sound crazy.”

Geren’s eyes widened in awe. “I am cartographer… have traveled world… never seen Boston… California… England. Strange details. Unusual existence. Odd story as if from… elsewhere… not here… but elsewhere perhaps.” Geren rose and knuckled to the back wall, to the bone figurines crammed onto the shelves. He held a finger out, searching for one before returning to his chair. His croaking voice filled with disbelief. “In my travels… I met the mau. Practitioners… of the spirit. I was graced to meet… mau seers and… one beyond them… a rarity… the bakhonsu. He who travels… between lives. Told of shaimaat. People… brought from other lives… long ago.”

He presented the bone figurine to me. It was roughly carved, but in the shape of a small animal, like a cat with three tails. It was thin, with short hair and long legs and ears. Like, actually just a slightly longer house cat.

My mind was racing on what all of that meant and if we were the only ones here from a different place, or life.

Does that mean there were more people here from Earth?

“Geren, uh, um,” I stammered, unsure of what I was going to say. “What do those words mean? Are there actually people from other worlds here?”

Geren sighed. “I have not seen… mau since my youth. Bone is rough… as is memory. I thought them all tales of… myth. Mau are hunted… as are shaimaat… so they tell.”

Vetia quickly scribbled.

And you think we’re shymat?

“No other reason… that you could exist… fireblood of spirit.”

I swallowed hard and put my hands together, leaning my chin on them. “So that means we’re being hunted just for existing in this world?”

Geren nodded. “Perhaps. I will hear no more… of your world. Odd mentions… strange places… references… all hints… to be wary of. If hunters exist… say not of me… lead not to me… for jzanmah which… peers into the mind… may reveal your truth. You.” He pointed to Vetia, “remain secret… or death falls upon you… then all of you.”

She looked at him, frightened and deep in thought before just sighing and shaking her head. She held the board to Desmond and I.

You both see a three tailed cat there, right?

Desmond leaned forward and shrugged. “What else could it be? If humans exist here, why can’t cats?”

I got up and motioned for the others to stand. “Thank you, Geren, I suppose we should be leaving then.”

“You will go to… Vehfirn, yes? Give to Riviera… Kataw… this from me. At Zeltem Order.” Geren stood and waddled across the room, retrieving a scroll from his desk. “Found for her on an ask. Also… reason for meeting… to deliver. A lie of safety, yes?” He handed the beige parchment scroll out, and Desmond took it from him.

Desmond practically ran out the door, holding his nose past Vetia, who returned the tablet, then waved to him with her exit. I was last out, stopping in the door frame.

“Thank you Geren, for everything you helped us with.”

“Be well… walkers of worlds.” He showed the same toothy grin that terrified us the first time, that fleshy beak stretched by his gleeful, genuine smile.