Tuya tried to breath, like Zaya taught her so long ago, hoping to bring peace to the conflict within her body and her mind. Visions of holding Darrakh’s hand and walking on the sands of Isihla clashed with the future Yaha foresaw where this man betrayed her to Gurgaldai. Was this man like every other tamer, but merely disguised beneath a façade meant to lull her well-honed defenses into clumsiness or was he the one that could help her fly away to the faraway lands and be free, be loved?

These forces pushed and pulled her, leaving her rooted where she was, stuck on the ground near the meadow where tamers claimed khorota during their first blood. Beside her, Yaha pulsed with nerves, and Tuya knew she wanted her to stay there, to never speak with this man who might be salvation or destruction. The tension pulled her taut, and she felt close to snapping under the pushes and pulls of her split mind.

She shook like a little branch in the great gusting winds of the season of slow death, trying to be of one mind rather than two as the turbulence within her tossed her around. Dreaming of this thing, of this love, was different than actually seizing it. Then, like a sudden downpour, she thought of Gurgaldai. He left her here, with Yaha, in the Hollows, free to do what she wanted as long as she did not try to flee. Though he had been absent, he did not forget her. This boy unlike any other who craved her love like any other.

Tuya could not see far enough into the future to know what would happen if Gurgaldai discovered she gave her love to another man, but she did not need perfect foresight to know that whatever came would be an ugly sight indeed. Visions of Chimaera tearing apart the crew of the Sixty-Four, of Jhorgal or the old stones being pulverized by Aldar, of Darrakh being destroyed, and of Gurgaldai’s anger finally turning upon her held Tuya to the ground. Imprudent was her feeling toward Darrakh and the foolish dream that this man who you could not hide from, could not run from, would allow the blooming of love between her and any other. In this moment, her ambivalence toward this boy who gave her more freedom than she ever had and bound her more tightly than any had, swung further in the winds of her anger, blowing away from love and closer to hate.

Relief oozed from Yaha’s mind, a weird sensation in the Hollows. The dark farawaylander returned to her hide as tension dispersed from her mind. Tuya exhaled, shook her head, and silently set back to her hide work. She tried to drive Gurgaldai from her mind, to think about him as little as he seemed to think about her, to imagine a future where she was not bound to him, but free to live her life, sharing her heart and her pain with people she chose rather than the beautiful monster that chose her. Scraping away at the wolf hide did not rid Gurgaldai from her thoughts.

A ululating shriek could though.

Yaha seized her spear and leapt toward the distress, ready to enforce her promise to kill those who hurt women. Tuya clambered to her feet and lagged behind her, thoughts of Gurgaldai retreating behind the urge to protect and help whoever was in pain. She ran through the region, past hollows hiding girls with downcast eyes and terrified hearts, scraping away at hides and hoping to do whatever they could to keep the tamer’s anger far from them.

A group of tamers gathered around a golden-skinned woman crumpled in an expanding pool of blood clutching her swollen belly. Tuya recognized the woman. She had arrived last season already starting to swell with seed, rejected any of Tuya’s help, and never spoke. She spoke now, loud and with incomprehensible words, her ululating cries piercing Tuya’s heart like psychic spears. Semug, a stout tamer, stood over his Heiyan claim, shouting, “You killed it!” He reared his foot for a gut kick, restraining his anger at the last moment as the point of Yaha’s spear approached his throat.

“Touch her and die, tamer!” Yaha roared.

The other tamers backed away from Yaha, trying not to cower and look small. Veins popped on Semug’s thick neck as he glared at Yaha’s spear point. “She killed my seed!”

Semug’s words carried truth. The seed would be a neverborn. The blood, the incomplete size of the farawaylander’s belly, her pained wails, all came together to tell the story of a dead seed, or one that would die soon after it left the womb. Never would it experience the love that made life worth living nor would it be subject to the hate, the pain, and the cruelty of life. Whether this fate was a mercy or a tragedy, Tuya knew not, only that it ripped her apart that she lived in a world where one had to question whether being born was a gift or a curse.

Yaha pressed the point of the spear closer to Semug’s throat, making the broad-shouldered beast flinch. “You killed the baby! You are the one that hurts her, that overworks her, that yells at her, that refuses to feed her! This is on you, tamer! You and all the others like you!”

Semug defended himself, redirecting blame downhill at the claimed Heiyan woman whimpering in pain beneath him. Yaha yelled louder, her rage boiling over Semug’s and the woman’s cries. In the midst of all this, Tuya heard neither Yaha nor Semug’s anger, but only the pain experienced by the woman dying alone in a place far from home. She knelt down and tried to make the woman’s pain smaller, tried to let her know that she was not alone, even if she was far from home.

The woman shrieked and pushed Tuya’s hand away when she tried to reach for her. Her words were like the rapid rush of the big flowing water, somehow turbulent yet also peaceful and smooth. Alas, there was no peace left in her. She flailed her arms, warding Tuya away from her, and sank her body into the ground to keep Tuya from lifting her.

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Unable to make physical contact, Tuya did not give up. Her instinct pushed her to reach for the woman’s consciousness, to give her love and strength. Yet, one cannot give what another is unwilling to receive. The Heiyan woman kept her mind closed, refusing Tuya.

Please, let me make your pain smaller. Let me show you that somebody cares.

The woman sealed her mind like an oyster, unwilling to share its pearls with anyone. She stopped shrieking, stopped crying, and clamped down on the ground, clinging to herself. Yet, the seed opened, its incomplete consciousness reaching for Tuya.

Tuya went to the unborn, hoping to give her a few moments of love. The link was unlike any other she experienced before. The unborn’s thoughts came through with as little clarity as the wailings of her mother, lacking the imagery or the language needed to convey ideas in ways that born people or creatures could. For all that, one did not need language or imagery to feel.

The pain of being planted in a place that did not want you to grow, of knowing nothing but pain, not knowing why you were in pain, why you suffered, why it felt like the world was ending, flowed from the unborn into Tuya. This distress passed through the link like the entire ocean being filtered into the smallest cup, achieving a scale almost beyond comprehension.

Think of the world ending, of everyone you loved dying, of losing your hopes and dreams, of suffering in torment as the end slowly consumed everything you ever valued. Now, imagine that level of distress being caused by stubbing your toe. Then, if you will, if you can, imagine how much it would hurt to die confused, alone, malnourished, unwanted, never having known anything except distress. Imagine how much that would hurt, if, by scale, the minor pain of stubbing your toe hurt as much as the end of the world.

That was the intensity of the distress Tuya sensed within the unborn.

The burden of sharing in that pain threatened to shatter Tuya’s mind, like a cup trying to hold the ocean. She fell to her knees, dropped to her hands, and sobbed as nigh incomprehensible pain flowed into her, the pain of existing as this unborn, unloved, unwanted, deprived, dying soul. Tuya did not let go, for if she did, nobody else would make this pain smaller. She held to the undeveloped consciousness, determined to be one drop of love in the unborn’s neverlife.

Whatever comfort she could provide, she tried. She made the unborn’s pain her own, sharing it so that it was not alone, carrying half the world was easier than carrying the whole damn thing. She sang, in her mind, words of comfort from across this cruel world. May you wander into the everlasting oasis and always find the light. Go with peace, little one. She projected images of the unborn’s tiny fingers grasping hers, of being held in Tuya’s loving arms, of being rocked and sung to in the language of Divine Leverith of love and dreams, of telling her over and over. I am with you. I accept you. I love you.

The unborn latched onto her, clinging like those tiny fingers in Tuya’s mind. The mother’s cries subsided, the vast ocean of pain grew smaller, bit by bit, until the love permeating the link grew larger than the distress. Tuya held on, ensuring that the neverborn was not a neverloved. Tuya held on, until, at last, the neverborn let go of Tuya’s finger and her consciousness faded from the world.

Sobbing, she staggered to her feet and wiped at her running eyes and nose. She felt weak, so unfathomably tired, and just wanted to retreat into the dark place and rest for days. The neverborn’s mother bled on the ground. Yaha held the spear tip against Semug’s throat. None of it seemed to matter anymore, Tuya’s ability to feel crippled as it was. “It is over,” she said, “the seed is no more.”

Semug gnashed his teeth, pointed at the mother, “She killed the seed. Celegana demands she return to the ground for her heresy.”

Yaha pressed the spear closer to Semug’s throat, drops of blood gathering on the tip. “I ought to—

Tuya placed her hand on Yaha’s arm. “There is enough pain already.” She met Semug’s glare, sensing his sorrow being converted into tamer rage. “It is okay to mourn for the seed you lost, Semug.”

He snarled. “The evil must be punished.” He pointed again at the woman crumpled on the ground, limp and slowly bleeding away her life.

“Witness the blood on the ground, Brother Semug,” another tamer said. “The Reaper has claimed her already.” Darrakh emerged from the tamers crowded around them.

Semug growled at the dying woman. “Too weak to carry my mighty seed. May she die slowly for her failure.” He backed away and Yaha let him go. Soon, the tamers dispersed, going about their days as though nothing transpired. Only Darrakh remained beside Tuya and Yaha as the golden-skinned woman’s color bled to a wan yellow and more blood pooled beneath her. The farawaylander muttered in her strange language, her eyes gazing someplace faraway from here.

Yaha stormed away, leaping inhumanly high and screaming as she fled away from this memory.

“Can you help her?” Darrakh asked, his voice too quiet and soft for a tamer.

Tuya’s chest ached. It was hard to let the words out. “She does not want my help. She chooses to die.”

“Then there is only one way to end her suffering.” He met Tuya’s eyes, the sad twinkle she saw shattered her doubts that this man was secretly like the others. “I will do this for you, Tuya.”

A feeling broke through her crippling exhaustion. Gratitude.

Darrakh returned from his hollow with one of the Mahagan spear tips, the main shaft shattered and leaving behind a jagged handle. He knelt beside the slowly dying woman. She looked right through him, mumbling her final words. Darrakh drove the spear point through her heart and buried it deep, applying force until the woman’s consciousness disappeared.

“Return to the Goddess,” Darrakh whispered, tears misting the edge of his eyes as he closed hers.

Tuya watched him, silent, as he breathed out, retrieved the broken spear, and retreated into his hollow without another glance. She retreated too, into the dark place, drained of all desires and unsure of when she would be ready to emerge back into this wicked world.