Chapter Text
Everyone wants to go to Temptation Lake.
Because of course they do.
Never mind that it's one of the most popular places in the Divine Realms for lesser gods and immortals to gather.
Never mind that Stormwings aren't exactly popular with said lesser gods and immortals at the best of times, such that the mere hint of steel wings or claws and a human face is enough to get some nasty comments made just a touch too loud to be ignored.
Never mind that the current situation is far, far away from the best of times. War in the Divine Realms - stupid, bloodless divine war, rendered in ineffable bursts of light rather than good old-fashioned gore and death and despair - and then there are all those stories about the barrier between the realms getting thinner than it ought to this time of year...
Nope.
Never mind all of that.
Everyone wants to go to play in Temptation Lake.
"I understand that they're idiots," Rikash tells Queen Barzha Razorwing, bating his wings a little for emphasis as he does. "But why does that mean I have to suffer?"
His queen's dark eyes are suspiciously bright, enough that Rikash suspects a joke is being played on him.
One wouldn't think of it to look at her - dark-haired, dark-eyed, hook-nosed, a striking beauty aged into regal grandeur with steel wings as sharp as ever - but Queen Barzha has a great (or terrible, depending on how you look at it and whether you're currently the subject of it) sense of humor.
"Well," she drawls, drawing out the words a thoroughly unnecessary extra few syllables in a way that definitely suggests that she's in a mischievous mood, "I think that's a question you have to ask yourself, really."
Ugh.
She's not wrong.
Rikash is a Lord now, after all. His Queen's left wing, her most loyal vassal (second only to her mate and not even then sometimes), etc. So when a score of the nation's Stromwings want to go frolicking in Temptation Lake and the Queen doesn't feel like going herself, that means he gets to babysit.
No, not babysitting. He likes babysitting.
Governing unruly Stormwings is more like trying to get a flock of cats to fly in formation.
Disaster.
But his Queen's not wrong: no one made Rikash become a Lord. If anything, given his youth and inexperience, they probably would have told him not to challenge Tairn Bloodspill, the last Lord of the Stone Tree nation, at the full moon duels a scarce three months past.
He probably shouldn't have done it, in fact - Rikash is barely more than a chick, really, having not even had his First Molt, and Tairn was old enough to spin tales of the days before the barrier to the Mortal Realms had gone up - but Rikash hadn't liked the way Tairn used his power to push around the littler ones instead of protecting them. The chicks are so few in number, and they're the future of the nation, and Tairn just saw them as stepping stones. Or worse, if they were pretty - despite none of them yet being eligible for breeding!
So Rikash challenged him.
(He should've just appealed the damn thing to the Queen instead of risking his life against Tairn's claws, but he'd lost his temper after the incident with Zusha.)
He'd figured, going into the fight, that at least this reckless action of his would make clear the extent of his disapproval, and anyway the challenged party doesn't have to kill the challenger even though Tairn was steamed enough by Rikash's insolence (as he called it) that he probably would have.
Rikash was as surprised as anyone when he won the fight fair and square, going wing-to-wing with one of their nation's fiercest fighters, and after that, of course, there wasn't anything for it. Tradition is clear: too young or not, Rikash is the Lord now.
"Besides, what's the harm?" Queen Barzha continues, interrupting Rikash's gloomy musings. "If you use the Ley to get there, the Lake is hardly that far away. I don’t think there will be trouble – I've made clear that no one is to start anything with any of the other immortals or lesser gods, or else they face me. At any rate, they know to stay in the more isolated portion of the Lake, by the rocks. They just want to get out of the Abattoir for a bit. Spread their wings."
Rikash grumbles, picking at one of the stones in the ground to avoid agreeing aloud. He can understand that urge.
Don't get him wrong, he loves the Abattoir. Land on the far edges of the Divine Realms near to the Dragonlands, where the winding river seeps into the red sandstone to create a marsh the color of blood and the heat from the nearby Sea of Sand makes the mud boiling hot -
The Abattoir, where the Stormwings make their eyries.
He'll even profess to a more-than-usual fondness for his own particular corner of the Abattoir, where giant clawing twisted strands of raw diamond climb upon each other to create the great Stone Trees after which his nation is named and in which they alone are brave enough (or stupid enough) to make their nests.
Of course, Rikash has always been a bit of a homebody.
But even he's been feeling the pinch of Queen Barzha's (undoubtedly quite wise) restrictions not to go too far afield, not to start trouble as they were quite literally born to do, until things have calmed a little in the Divine Realms. An excursion would be nice.
But why does it have to be Temptation Lake?
"What's wrong with the lake?" Queen Barzha asks. For a second, Rikash thinks he was speaking aloud, but no - he's just being obvious again. Ugh. Queen Barzha keeps assuring him that he’s going to grow out of that eventually, but it clearly hasn’t happened yet. "You love the lake."
"I did," Rikash allows. "It's just..."
He flounders a bit. He can't just say what the real problem is: that he doesn't want to look at himself right now, and the reflection off the surface of Temptation Lake is as cuttingly sharp as any Stormwing feather.
"Ah," Queen Barzha, always able to read Rikash like he was a mountain with his feelings carved on its face, says wisely. "I see."
Now she's definitely laughing at him.
"You know the other Stormwings respect you for your ability," she says. "Not your appearance."
Rikash would like to know that - but vanity has always been a weakness of his particular ancestry. Why else would his last name be - of all un-Stormwing-like things - Moonsword?
Sentimental rubbish.
"Besides," Queen Barzha adds, eyes deceptively wide in an attempt to hide how the edges are crinkled with amusement, "it's really not that uncommon for a First Molt to come in later than expected -"
"I'm going! I'm going!" Rikash squawks, turning tail and taking to the air at once. He is not having the puberty talk with his Queen!
Not again!
"Come on, you human-made kites!" he shouts down to the group of would-be travelers that'd been hanging around the edges of the valley jostling each other like a flock of goslings considering a barn-break. "You want to go or not?"
They take to the air in groups, nearly twenty Stormwings in all - a fine coterie. "How would you know what a human’s kite looks like?" one of them calls - Serje, hiding behind Gulant as if he thinks Rikash won't recognize his voice if there's a large female in the way. "You’re younger than the barrier – you’ve never seen one!"
"Neither have you, Serje," Rikash returns, smoothly enough. "Longing daydreams don't count."
That gets a few guffaws, which Rikash counts as a victory, and with that, they're off.
Temptation Lake is, in fact, nowhere near the Abattoir, or at least it wouldn’t be if you were measuring it as the Stormwing flies. But by chance the Ley this year has an opening near enough to both, and the travel Underhill between the dogfennel field not far from the Abattoir and the clover field less than a dozen minute’s flight from the Lake is almost instantaneous.
In short: an easy journey, a pleasant one, and that means everyone is largely behaving themselves. That, in turn, leaves Rikash to brood over his belated First Molt.
It really isn't fair. He's a Lord now. He's got the whole honor and pride of his flock resting on his shoulders.
He should at least be able to do so with a bit of dignity.
But no.
Rikash is of age, as Stormwings count the time; he never would have been allowed to make an official challenge otherwise. He’s capable of fighting, mating, having children, and even of being involved in political decisions – he can’t even be considered an adolescent anymore! But no.
Despite all that, his body stubbornly refuses to make the final change to the adult form that he'll inhabit for the rest of eternity, or the rest of his life, depending on which ends first.
So while he likes to think that the human half of his appearance isn't all that unattractive - long blond hair with bones delicately and painstakingly braided in, leaf-green eyes, pale skin that becomes attractively mottled when he's splattered with blood-mud or the gore of a kill - the Stormwing half is...
Less satisfying.
He still has fuzz. Fuzz! The plump steel wool that characterizes the lower half of young Stormwings - and, depressingly enough, the chicks of a species of swim-bird called a "penguin" - is not exactly what one would call properly intimidating.
Yes, Rikash is well aware that his reputation of having defeated and killed a well-regarded fighter far older than himself is intimidating enough. Yes, he's aware that one day, without any warning, he'll suddenly start shedding feathers and the last lingering bits of chick fat at an alarming rate, fall asleep for several hours, and wake up both ravenous and looking like a proper adult. Yes, he's aware that he's still well within the reasonable age range for a First Molt, albeit nearing the top tail end of it - he's a full adult, after all, even if his body is taking its sweet old time to catch up with his mind.
Yes, he's aware that his current concerns amount to little more than vanity.
But really. How is he supposed to be taken seriously as the emissary of his nation if he can't take himself seriously?
And now he gets to go stare at his fuzzy lower half and his still-not-fully extended wingspan with suspiciously fluffy point-feathers in the perfect mirror that is the surface of the Lake and sulk about it.
Great.
At least his claws are still nice and sharp.
…right?
Suddenly anxious, Rikash splits off a little from the rest of his group when they land on the rocky cliffs by Temptation Lake. While they start splashing around in the little inlet they favor, he hops over to the water's edge to examine his claws.
They're not stubby, are they? He'll grow another few inches during his First Molt, but his claws should have already reached their final size - giving him a somewhat awkward gawky adolescent appearance, yes, but also suggestive of his future build. If he has stubby claws now, then he might not grow as tall as he hopes. Or worse, he'll end up as tall as his nest-sire, but still have stubby claws...
No, they seem fine. Nice and long, flexible and sharp. Dare he flatter himself and think they're maybe even a little sharper than average...?
(Rikash has heard that in other species of the air such attractive features are divided by gender, permitting the females to laugh at the antics of the males who are always anxiously comparing themselves to each other. He's deeply relieved that that distinction does not apply to Stormwings, who are by and large all inclined towards ridiculous claw-measuring contests. Even if female Stormwings do have an irritating tendency to go into First Molt earlier than males.)
Well, at least there's that. He may be short and skinny and fuzzy, but he's got good claws, and the rest will (hopefully) change in time.
He just has to keep reminding himself of that.
He just has to -
Find out what's going on with his flock.
There's a commotion by the inlet, Stormwings suddenly taking air with war-screeches that sound more alarmed than anything else, ungainly flapping that suggests a sudden and urgent desire to get into the air.
What's happened? Who would think it a good idea to attack a flock of Stormwings at rest, and why? Someone angry? A lesser god - another immortal -
"Stormwing Killer!" Jaiko screeches, wheeling uncharacteristically frantically as she climbs into the air.
Oh, no.
Not her.
Rikash has heard stories of her. Veralidaine Sarrasri Weiyrnsra, wild mage of the Mortal Realm of Tortall. Half-god, half-human - slayer of Zhaneh Bitterclaw and half her flock - wielding arrows with a hunt-god's perfect aim - mastery over all manner of creatures - shape-changing skill of a quality that would make a chaos creature envious -
A burning hatred of all Stormwings.
And for some reason she's not in the Mortal Realms where she usually spends her days but here, in the Divine Realms.
Going after Rikash's flock.
Not good!
Rikash leaps into the air. "Evasive!" he shouts, opting for the Stormwing tongue rather than Common in the hope that the Stormwing Killer will think he's merely cursing. Most Stormwing words sound like that, anyway. "Fly evasive now!"
He's a bit too far to be heard perfectly, but Dubukk, nearer to him than the rest, takes up the cry until they've all heard.
Much to Rikash's relief, his flock actually obeys for once, settling into the unpredictable dart-and-stop flying that looks like a mad mob of starlings but which is unlike any natural animal flight, reliant on magic as well as wing, and thus even harder to predict.
It's throwing the Stormwing Killer off her usual bloodthirsty instincts - three of Rikash's flock have arrows protruding from fleshy shoulders or backs, but no one is dead, not yet, but the Stormwing Killer will adjust quickly -
Rikash doesn't have anywhere near the magic or fighting skill Zhaneh Bitterclaws - a Queen in her own right, a proven warrior centuries old. He doesn't have the advantage of numbers - the Stormwing Killer has gone after far more than twenty Stormwings at once before, and those were ones that were organized into a war-band rather than out for a pleasure jaunt. He doesn't even have the element of surprise.
If he fights her, he will only lose.
But he can't just let her massacre his flock.
He has to think of a way to stop her, even if only for long enough for his Stormwings to retreat - a way to distract her - to contain her -
But everyone knows you can't contain a shape-shifter.
No, that's not quite right - you can't contain a chaos creature that is bound to no shape at all, everyone knows that. But that still leaves the possibility that you can contain a shape-shifter that's limited to the forms of mortal creatures - or at least, Rikash hopes so.
He catches a thermal and shoots up high into the sky above his frantically wheeling flock. "Keep flying mob-pattern for now, but be ready to retreat on my signal," he calls down to them. "You'll know what it is when you see it. Everyone, cover Dubukk, Aiko, and Gulant -" The strongest magic-casters of the flock. "- and the three of you, on the count of four, aim your fire-blasts ten feet above the Killer's head."
"Ten feet above?" Serje yells. "Have you lost your mind?"
Rikash ignores Serje's insubordination, but only because Serje has an arrow in his back that's no doubt causing him to panic even more than usual. He knows that he'll have to put Serje back in his place if they get out of here alive, but that's a problem for later. Right now, the goal is to ensure that they actually manage to get out of here alive.
"Three," he shouts. "Two - now!"
They cast fireballs of Stormwing magic, crimson and gold, at the Killer, who ducks, expecting the attack to be aimed at her.
It's not.
It's aimed at the rocky ridge right above her head.
But Stormwing war-magic won't be enough to knock that ridge down, not from a distance; it'll only loosen it enough so that someone could push those rocks free into a rockslide, if they were strong enough.
That's why Rikash got all that height: so that he could use magic, momentum and gravity all together to give himself the extra mass he needs to knock the whole thing down as he rams himself, body curled into a ball protected by steel wings, into the cliffside.
With a towering groan, the rocks give way, tumbling down on the Stormwing Killer.
Unfortunately for Rikash, his hare-brained scheme is a little too effective, pulling rocks from above his head, and that means he can't get away fast enough, the rocks boxing him in as well and sending him tumbling down to the ground.
"Fly!" he manages to shout as he falls snout-over-wings, though it sort of devolves into a high-pitched screech towards the end there as rocks start thudding into him - no doubt offended by his rough treatment. He hopes his flock still heard him, assuming they're not bright enough to work out that the giant rockslide is the signal he was talking about.
And – yes! Even if his head is whirling, his magic sense still works, and he can feel his flock take to the air and beat wing on their way out of there.
Well, most of them; a few just drop off the magical radar, suggesting shielding that would only be necessary if they weren't planning on going far. Rikash is torn between being annoyed that they're disobeying his orders to leave and being deeply, desperately grateful that they're not too far away in the event of an opportunity for rescue.
Even if chances are that the only thing they'll be rescuing is his corpse.
Gloomy prospects or no, Rikash pulls himself painfully out from under the rocks, hoping that they fell snugly enough on the Stormwing Killer to keep her trapped a little longer - just enough time for him to take to the air, or grab onto a magic-rope to be dragged away to safety.
No such luck.
The Stormwing Killer wiggles out of a small hole the rocks in the form of a rattle-tail serpent, hissing venomously and shaking its rattle death-call.
Rikash levers himself up to at least a perching position, even though he's too sore to take easily to the sky. She'd catch him, anyway - she's taken down more than one fleeing Stormwing, whether with arrows or with her eagle-form.
"Well, then," he says, sweeping a wing in front of him with more bravado than actual threat. "If you're going to kill me, I suggest you get on with it."
He's expecting a quick jab with the fangs to the fleshy parts of his throat next, or perhaps another form if she thinks the serpent too risky given the sharpness of his wings, but that's not what happens.
She turns human, instead.
Pink and fleshy and currently disarmed, but for the silver badger-claw around her neck.
Weird.
Rikash checks, bemusedly, wondering if - but no.
"You're not out of magic," he says, now even more confused. "You can still shift. What, do you want to try murder by strangulation out? I'd recommend clothes before you try that - we don't exactly have many non-sharp edges to grab hold of."
The Stormwing Killer blinks at him like he's still talking Stormwing, even though he's quite certain that he switched to Common.
She's not really what he expected.
A mass of brown-hair curls, grey-blue eyes, salmon-peach skin that darkened by a few degrees to a blush red on the parts that see sun more than the rest - she doesn't even look all that old!
Not that he can trust that, of course. Gods are tricky with ages, and the godborn, their children with mortals, possibly even more so.
"Did you throw yourself at the mountain so that your friends could get away?" she asks suddenly, putting her hands on her hips.
Rikash blinks, taken aback by the accusing tone in her voice. "Um," he says. "Yes? Obviously? I'm the Lord; it's my responsibility to care for others before myself."
"You're the Lord - no, hold up, before we get there, since when do Stormwings do anything for others first?"
Rikash scowls at her, suddenly irritated. "Listen, not everyone's Zhaneh Bitterclaws, all right? Some of us know the meaning of honor."
"Honor," the Stormwing Killer echoes. She sounds doubtful.
"Yes, honor; I don't suppose you've ever heard of the concept -" Rikash says, automatically pulling his wings back to emphasize his point, only to realize belatedly that he's just given her an opening to lunge for his throat.
She doesn't take it.
"Honor," she says again, sounding oddly dazed. "I'm being lectured on not having honor by a Stormwing. By a Stormwing chick."
"I'm not a chick!" Rikash yowls, offended. "I'm almost an adult! And a Lord! You should be intimidated!"
Well, not her specifically, obviously, her being the Stormwing Killer and all that, but generally.
"But you've still got fuzz! You can't be intimidating with fuzz!"
"I knew it!" Rikash exclaims, beating his wings with annoyance. He can't help it. "Curse it, I knew Queen Barzha was blowing hot air up my wings with all that nonsense about being respected for your ability instead of appearance -"
The Stormwing Killer is laughing at him.
Great.
"No, no! Don't sulk!" she says, wiping her eyes. "You're clearly very capable! I don't think any Stormwing's tried knocking a mountain on me before. Where'd you think of that, anyway?"
"Seemed like the thing to do," Rikash says, suddenly aware that he's having a very strange conversation. "And it's not a mountain. It's barely even a cliff."
One of the rocks still above their heads gives a threatening sort of groan.
"Oh, don't you start," Rikash snaps. "You know very well that you're a cliff; don't you start putting on airs or we'll make a point of fouling on you."
The rock shuts up, though there is a distinct air of annoyance.
"Are you really nearly an adult?" the Stormwing Killer asks.
Rikash pins her with a glare. "As it happens, yes," he says testily. "I'm overdue for my First Molt; that's all. By the law, I'm an adult - my body just needs a little longer to catch up."
She frowns. "First Molt?"
"When a chick - well, when anyone who isn't there yet, anyway - sheds their fuzz and wings and takes on the form they'll have forever until they die," Rikash says. "Don't you know that? You're the Stormwing Killer - don't you smash eggs or something?"
"I would never smash eggs! Any eggs, not even Stormwing eggs!" the Stormwing Killer exclaims, then pauses, reconsidering. "Well, chickens -"
"Chickens don't count. At the rate you humans have bred them to lay eggs, they'd take over the world if people didn't eat 'em."
"Chickens are pretty dumb, anyway," the Stormwing Killer agrees, then suddenly looks mildly horrified. “Wait. There’s a chicken god, isn’t there?”
“Oh, yes,” Rikash says, sympathetic with that horror despite himself. Chickens are obnoxious. “And not just the First Male and Female, either; they’ve got saints by the dozen –”
“You’re pulling my leg. You can’t be serious - chickens -”
Right.
Rikash is talking about chickens with one of the most infamous murderer of Stormwings in the Mortal or Divine Realms.
This is officially the weirdest conversation Rikash has ever been a party too.
"Well," he says, spreading his wings. "If you're not going to kill me, I'm going to - leave now."
"No, wait -"
Rikash, idiot that he is, actually hesitates.
He can't believe himself sometimes.
"- don't go yet," she continues. "I have questions -"
"Then get them answered by someone who's got time to get murdered," Rikash snaps, finally pushed beyond tolerance. "I've got duties."
And with that (somewhat) satisfying finish, he leaps into the air and beats the hastiest retreat he can.
He's out of arrow-shot range - even the Stormwing Killer's - when Zusha, Serje and Dubukk drop out of a cloud to fly beside him.
"Why aren't you dead?" Zusha asks. "I thought you'd be dead by now."
"Stormwing Killer wanted to chat instead of kill," Rikash tells her shortly. There is no way he's going to tell her that the Stormwing Killer thought he was a chick and took pity. "Maybe she drank from the Lake and was tempted to talkativeness."
"Bet she wanted to know how to get to the Abattoir," Serje grumbles.
Rikash rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't have told her even if she'd asked, which she didn't. Why are you here, anyway? You wouldn't even dung my bones if I died, much less give a mourning cry."
"The arrow in his back hit the dorsal muscle," Dubukk says calmly. "He won't be able to fly all the way home without help, or at least some time to heal with the arrow removed, and we wanted to stay to see what happened."
Dubukk has always been very phlegmatic and straightforward for a Stormwing - direct, honest, and refreshingly blunt, in a way that initially irritated and ultimately endeared him to just about everyone who met him.
Rikash supposes that explains why even Serje, who doesn't like anyone, likes him, but it doesn't explain why Dubukk likes Serje back.
Easily the weirdest pairing in the flock.
"We should land," Dubukk adds. "Get it out."
"We should fly home," Zusha scoffs.
"I can't," Serje hisses. "My wing's about to fall off."
Rikash cuts his eyes at Serje, hoping that was an exaggeration but no, he's actually flying straight-winged and magic-reliant. Even the flight to the Ley would be excruciating with that arrow in place - he's only staying aloft now with Dubukk's help.
And they did stay for him.
"Fine," Rikash says. "We land, we get the arrow out, we go. Help him down."
Zusha rolls her eyes, but agrees.
They land in the forest behind the Lake. Serje doesn't bother perching in a tree, just goes straight to ground, slouching painfully. Dubukk lands next to him, already twisting his magic into a delicate net to tug the arrow out.
Zusha lands on a branch, sneering down at them, but Rikash hops down onto a raised root to supervise, even though it's a bit more uncomfortable.
"You've got it?" he asks, shifting from side to side. He doesn't like Serje, but he doesn't want him to lose a wing, either.
Sure, if it ends up going badly they'll just commission him a prosthetic and he'll be fine, but he'll make everyone else's life miserable in the meantime.
"I've got it," Dubukk says absently. He's one of the strongest magic-casters in the flock, thanks to his obsessive focus on his special interests, so Rikash believes him. It'd just be nice to actually see some progress, that's all - Rikash doesn't want to be this close to the Lake, and the Stormwing Killer, for any longer than he has to.
Especially when the forest around them cuts off their line of sight for oncoming arrows, and the noises make it hard to detect anyone's approach.
Well, hard for them, anyway.
Rikash glances at the tree they've landed on. Not a First, luckily - that'd be trouble - but pretty old, and hopefully inclined towards practicality.
"If you warn us before anyone approaches, we'll carry your fruit for you," he murmurs to the bark. "Anywhere you like, or just further on our travels."
The tree doesn't react for a long moment, then shakes its branches just the slightest bit, agreeing.
"Zusha -"
"I'm on it, I'm on it," she says. "It's fine: I was getting hungry anyway."
"We feed on fear, Zusha," Serje growls at her. "You can't be getting hungry for tree-fruit."
"Maybe you feed on fear," she says haughtily, already cutting some of the tree’s fruit off. "I feed on a wide range of negative human emotion, and also fruit. Fear doesn't fill your bowels, you know."
Rikash rolls his eyes at their bickering - Stormwings love to argue more than just about anything else in the world, so it's a good sign - and starts to relax. As long as the tree is sincere about keeping a root out for them, they'll get advance warning if -
The tree shakes.
Rikash's wings go up at once, a defensive posture, and he immediately casts out his magic, searching for the person approaching, eyes' turned towards the dark of the woods in the hope of seeing -
A dragon?
A dragon kitling?
"Hey, you there! Are you all right?" Rikash says, immediately concerned. He hops off his branch and over to where the kitling in question is not-very-successfully trying to conceal herself in a bush, which might even have worked if her movement hadn't caught his attention. "What are you doing here all alone? Don't you know it's dangerous?"
"Babysitter," Zusha mocks, almost instinctively, but she throws down some fruit. "Give her some of that: she's probably hungry."
The kitling raises her head and eyes them both with a strangely familiar expression of bewilderment. Rikash swears he's seen something like that before, but he's not sure where.
The Abattoir lies alongside one of the borders of the Dragonlands, so undoubtedly it was someone there, but he would swear it was more recent than that.
"Have some redfruit," Rikash tells the kitling, nodding at what Zusha'd thrown. "Don't worry; it won't interfere with your digestion - the tree's agreed."
...thanks, the kitling says. I'm not hungry, though.
"Kittens your age are always hungry," Zusha says. "Rikash, look at her - she can't be two decades old yet!"
"Did your guardian take you out and get distracted conducting an experiment?" Rikash asks. He more than most knows how dragons can get. "They should know better; Temptation Lake's safe enough, but it's not that safe. Letting a kitling wander…! Disgraceful."
The kitling still looks unduly bewildered.
"You don't need to worry; we're Stone Tree," Rikash reassures her. "We've got child-watching contracts with almost all the Borderlands dragon clans -"
"And Rikash here's a Moonsword," Zusha agrees. "Babysitting's in their blood, especially dragons - that's how they got that ridiculous last name."
Your last name is Moonsword? the kitling asks, delighted. Really? I thought they were all Blood-death and Killing-spree and such like that.
"My ancestors were sentimental," Rikash grumbles. "They fostered a dragon during the great Dragon Wars whose name had ‘Moon’ in it and she gave them the name, and now no one will ever change it."
"Your lot still get free passage into the Dragonlands just about any time you want," Zusha objects. "That's not a bad trade."
"Easy enough to say when your last name's something respectable like Sharpclaw."
"Well, yes, my name is objectively better, but -"
The kitling is giggling. You're funny, she says in that little croak-chirp dragons her age favor for spoken speech. You're not supposed to be funny!
Rikash grins at her. Even for a Stormwing - and they're a species known for their unusual willingness to babysit just about everyone's young - he's always been fond of children.
"It’s a secret," he informs her conspiratorially. "Don't tell, or no one’ll be afraid of us anymore. Now, come out of there and we'll take you back home to the Dragonlands."
I can't go there yet, the kitling objects. I've got business here.
But she does crawl out to grab the fruit, though she turns it around in her hands like a raccoon instead of eating it.
"Business, hmm?" Rikash asks, amused. Dragons are always so endearingly precocious at this age. "Are you a scientist already, then, or -"
"Rikash!" Zusha hisses, suddenly alarmed. "She's got spots!"
"What? Where?"
I don't have spots, the kitling says. What's she talking about?
"Left flank, by the tail," Zusha says. "Twist your head and you can see it, kitten."
How'd you know my nickname? the kitling asks, but she's twisting to look at her left flank, which is in fact covered with ugly, pulsing red-black spots. And where'd those come from?!
"You must've walked through a particularly nasty chaos-vent," Rikash says, aiming for reassuring. "And all dragons your age are called kitlings or kittens; it's not hard to guess."
"Don't worry," Zusha says, sounding worried. "You're a dragon, even at its worse a bit of chaos-muck won't do more than make you sick for a decade or two -"
A decade or two?!
"Zusha, you're not helping," Rikash says sternly. "Kitling, come hop on my back; I'll take you up into the upper atmosphere to see if we can sear it off there."
"That's a terrible idea," Serje says, butting in at the worst possible time. "Do you have a death wish or something, Rikash? This is the second plan that could lead to you being dead in as many hours!"
"She's no more than three decades old, Serje!" Privately, Rikash agrees with Zusha's guess of less than two, maybe a decade and a half at most, but young dragons liked to be thought a little older. "Her scales aren't hard enough to resist a chaos-scourge yet; we need to get it cleaned off before it has a chance to dig in deeper - or spread to anyone else."
It’s called chaos-scourge? the kitling asks, sounding upset. And it can spread?
"You don't need to worry about spreading it to me," Rikash assures her. "We Stormwings are particularly resistant to chaos-sickness, thanks to our nature as war-birds. Wouldn't be much good at our jobs if we got carried away with war-madness every time we saw a battlefield, would we? Now hop on."
"This is stupid," Serje says. "Just take her back to the Dragonlands and let her sleep it off; who cares if she misses a few decades - ouch!"
"Stop wiggling," Dubukk orders.
"And stop being an onion-for-brains," Zusha says. "Early years are important in a dragon's development. Go on, kitten; you'll feel much better when you and Rikash get back. And shut up, Serje; just because you're not a good enough flyer to handle upper atmosphere doesn't mean Rikash can't."
Rikash appreciates Zusha's confidence.
"Besides, he's still got his fuzz," Zusha adds. "That should help protect him."
He does not appreciate that.
Is it really that serious? the kitling asks.
"Depends," Serje says, rolling his eyes. "Do you like having a tail and a leg, or do you prefer to wait until the chaos-scourge has eaten into the muscle and bone until -"
The kitling gives a croak-call that temporarily turns one of Serje's wings to stone.
"Hey!"
"Serje, stop acting like a egg-fresh chick," Rikash says, dispelling the stone-song with a blast of scarlet fire. Dubukk, working right beside that wing, doesn't even blink. "Kitling, while you can ignore Serje, this maneuver will work better the sooner we do it. Just climb on my back - you're no more than three feet long; you can even put your muzzle on my shoulder to see where we're going if you want."
She twists to looks at her leg and tail again, shudders, then clambers on. You'd better not be playing a trick on me, she warns. I've got tricks of my own.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Rikash says, mostly honestly - he's played his share of pranks on the dragonkind, but not someone this young or this sick - and takes to the air as fast as magic and wings will let him.
How will flying up high help, anyway? the kitling asks, insatiably curious in the way all dragons are.
"We're not just flying high," Rikash explains. "We're going to the very barrier between the Divine Realms and the Voidlands, where Father Universe and Mother Flame reside."
The Voidlands? I've never even heard of those!
"You wouldn't, not until you're old enough to fly. Dragons are always worried about their kitlings trying to go too high on their first flight - apparently it's something of a rite of passage, getting the wits scared out of you right before you take to the air."
Scared? What's in the Voidlands that's scary? Isn't it just Father Universe and Mother Flame there?
Rikash shrugs, even as he beats his wings harder to make less progress - the air is thinning already. "Some people say that the Threefold Realms - Mortal, Divine and Death, since no one ever counts the Dragonlands separately even though it technically is - are only one of the many creations of Father Universe and Mother Flame's get, and that if you go deep into the Voidlands you'll find earlier versions, filled with horrors beyond imagining. Or maybe you'll just freeze to death in the Void itself, it being a breathless, lifeless, heatless place, and the only alternative being burning to death in the heart of one of Mother Flame's many stars."
Sounds interesting.
"If I ever doubted that you were a dragon..."
The air is definitely getting thinner. He pushes further up, faster, and the first shimmers of Voidfrost start to form on his wings.
Damn Zusha's claws, but the fuzz really does help insulate him a little.
It's cold. Colder than winter.
"Nothing survives in the Void," Rikash explains. He needs to take big, gulping breaths, but judging by the kitling’s terrified tone, he's pretty sure she needs reassurance more. "But especially not the stuff of chaos. That's what we're trying to do - get just high enough to freeze it off, but not too high that we can't come back down."
The kitling shoves her muzzle under Rikash's long blond hair, clearly not wanting to think about it. You've done this before, right?
"Absolutely," Rikash assures her. He's definitely done it at least twice before.
Not quite as high as he's planning on going now, mind, but whatever.
"I'm going to make us breathers now," he adds, forming scarlet bubbles over the kitling's head and his own mouth. The magic is an additional strain, which is why he waited so long and didn’t make a full bubble around them both, but it's starting to get difficult enough to breathe that he doesn’t want to do without it. "Look up and see if you can see Mother Flame dancing."
Dancing? What do you mean, dancing? How can a bodiless power be dancing -
The kitling suddenly falls quiet.
She's just seen what Rikash means: the great dance of the stars, spinning endlessly in Father Universe's void, swirls of light and color, being born and dying and living all at once, a cacophony of frenzied movement that's silent only because they don't have the ears to hear the songs they're singing.
It's - beautiful.
"The raw stuff in which chaos is continually reborn," Rikash says, secretly pleased that the kitling appreciates it. "The Great Gods don't like it much, having declare themselves Heralds of Order and the mortal enemies of Uusoae, Queen of Chaos, but it's not all that bad, is it?"
No. Not that bad at all...that's really chaos? I thought - well.
He doesn’t need her to fill in the rest; he knows as well as anyone how children’s stories tend to focus on how chaos is bad and harmful.
"Too much chaos is bad for anyone - yes, even Stormwings - and with the chaos vents lying around all over it's easier to teach children just to avoid it," Rikash explains. "But it's still necessary – and what a sight to see..! Besides, look, your tail's already doing better."
Wiggling ensues, the kitling eeling around to look at her left flank again. Almost no spots left.
Great! Does that mean we can go down now?
"What, you don't want to see more?" Rikash jokes.
I do! But Dai- er, my guardian will be worried about me if I'm gone too long.
"Fair enough," Rikash agrees. You don't want to get on the wrong side of a dragon parent, that's for sure. "Hold on tight; this is the fun part."
Also the part where he might die, yes, but Rikash loves the descent back into atmosphere. He's just enough of a mage to wrap his whole body in scarlet fire meant to protect him and his passenger, and that means he can just fold up his wings, give himself a magic push away from the Void, and drop like a stone thrown into a canyon.
Well, assuming that that stone also caught on fire from the friction on the way down.
Reentry is the best.
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Looks like the kitling agrees.
Rikash reluctantly spreads his wings when they're just above the forest, bringing their abrupt descent to a sudden halt and coasting the rest of the way down to the clearing he left the others in.
"Now, in the future, be a bit more careful with the vents," he starts to say as he comes in for a landing. "And stay by your guardian; there's dangerous folk running about -"
"Drop her! Now!"
Oh, blood and gore, it's the thrice-damned Stormwing Killer again, and she's got her bow out.
"Are you stalking us or something?" Rikash demands irritably, ignoring his instinctive wave of fear at the sight of that bow. No way he can get out of her shot range quickly, especially not with a dragon kitling on his back; the only way out of this is to brazen his way through it. "At least let me drop off the kitling with her guardian, yes? You don't have a war with dragons - or at least, you don't yet, and you really don't want one, trust me."
Um, the kitling says. Actually. There's something I probably should've mentioned earlier...
"Kitten," the Stormwing Killer says in a very different tone. "What are you doing riding on that Stormwing? Get off this instant."
He was helping me! the kitling protests. I like him!
"You can't like him! He's a Stormwing!"
Well, I still like him anyway, so there.
"Kitten!"
Rikash's head twists between the kitling on his shoulder and the Killer and he abruptly realizes, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, what's going on.
"You're Skysong?!" he squawks. "Flamewing's kit? The one being raised in the Mortal Realms by the Stormwing Killer? Why didn't you say so?"
It's not that important...
"Of course it's important!" Serje howls from where he's hidden himself in the trees. "You could've just gone back to the Mortal Realms to get rid of the chaos-scourge, without bringing the Stormwing Killer down on our heads! That's gratitude for you, that, getting us killed when we were only trying to be friendly!"
"You weren't being friendly," Zusha's voice grumbles from another tree. "We were being friendly."
She's not going to kill any of you, Skysong says, rolling her eyes.
"Uh, Kitten," the Stormwing Killer says. "What are you talking about? Of course I am."
They saved my life! You're not killing them.
If Rikash had any doubts about whether the Stormwing Killer really is Skysong’s rightful guardian, the aggravated expression on her face as she digests Skysong's scolding makes it clear enough.
"She walked through a chaos-vent and got some chaos-scourge on her," he tells the Stormwing Killer, unable to keep from rubbing it in. "You're supposed to be her guardian, aren't you? Take better care of her and we won't need to take her on flights to fix it."
"Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith," the girl groans, but lowers her bow. "You are the strangest Stormwing I've ever met. If you didn't stink to high heaven, I'd've gotten concerned you weren't a Stormwing at all!"
"Says the girl who smells of onions," Zusha growls.
"I'm done!" Dubukk suddenly announces. "The arrow's out; we can go home now. Wait, who's the girl? And where'd the dragon kitling come from?"
"Dubukk," Zusha says, exasperated. "I mean this as kindly as I can, but how in the pits of the Black God have you made it to adulthood?!"
"He was focusing!" Serje snaps back, immediately furious in his friend's defense. "You know he doesn't notice other things when he's focusing! Leave him be!"
"Are any of you normal?" the Stormwing Killer asks, putting her hands on her hips. "Did you drink some tainted water? Do Stormwings turn nice when they go rabid or something?"
"Says the Stormwing Killer," Zusha says. "You're what happens when humans go rabid."
"Hey!"
"Now, Zusha, really," Rikash says. "You should at least be accurate with your insults. She's a rabid godborn, not a human."
"Hey! Stop calling me rabid!"
I like them, Skysong declares.
"Kitten!"
What? They're funny!
"They're Stormwings! They're evil!"
"That's kind of prejudiced," Dubukk remarks. "Doesn't anyone else think that's prejudiced?"
"Something in the water," the Stormwing Killer mutters, releasing her bow to rub at her face. "I swear. Kitten, just get off of him already, okay? And then we can just - go. Our way. In peace. While the Stormwings go - wherever they're going."
"Sounds fine to me," Rikash says hastily. "We're just going to head on home now that Serje's wing is working again. In fact, we should be going now -"
An extremely loud clanging noise rips through the air, sending all of them - Stormwings, dragon, and godborn alike - to the ground with their wings by their ears to try to block it out.
"You have got to be kidding!" Zusha exclaims when the noise has finally faded. "They can't do that!"
"Do what?" the Stormwing Killer asks, uncovering her ears. She's not as intimidating when she's sitting on her ass looking shell-shocked. "What was that?"
"That," Serje says bitterly, "was the Great Gods being useless flatulent magic-bags whose temples should be fouled on a regular basis."
"That was the Great Gods? Doing what?"
"Announcing that they're closing the Ley," Rikash says. He can't believe how bad his luck is today. "With no explanation as to why, either."
"Since when do the Great Gods explain themselves to mere immortals?" Zusha asks, rolling her eyes. "Or lesser gods. Or anyone..."
"But if they close the Ley," Dubukk says, frowning, "that means we can't take the Ley to get home."
"What's the Ley?" the Stormwing Killer asks.
Rikash looks at her, certain she's joking, but no - she seems in earnest. "The Ley," he says blankly. "Everyone's favorite shortcut. A ‘ley’ is a seasonal field, planted somewhat at random throughout the Divine Realms every year, but since they're all connected through the ley-lines, you can go into one field and come out of another after a quick trip Underhill. It’s called the Ley."
She scowls. "There's a shortcut to get around the Divine Realms? Well, that's a load of hogswash; no one told me about a shortcut!"
"Well, there isn't one now," Serje says. "Weren't you paying attention? The Great Gods just closed it!"
"It's absolute gods' droppings, that's what it is," an angry voice buzzes from nearby. Eluwilussit, the scarlet-bodied wasp moth god that tends to feed off of the dogfennel field near the Abattoir, comes flying out of the forest a moment later. "I came to visit Tsikenithèserak, the green lacewing, in the clover field to consult on the issues with her larva, and now I'm stuck until they open it again! No consideration at all!”
“They could’ve at least warned us,” Zusha agrees.
“At least we weren’t flying into the field when they closed it,” Dubukk says. “Then we might’ve been trapped Underhill.”
“Is that even possible? The transport through the Ley is instantaneous.”
“Sure, it seems instantaneous. But do we know that it actually is?”
They all pause to consider some unpleasant possibilities.
“Well,” Rikash says after a moment, shaking his head to rid himself of the thought. “Now that I’ve hit my quota for disturbing thoughts for the day, with thanks as always to Dubukk, we need to figure out what we’re doing next. Queen Barzha’s instructions were very clear that we shouldn’t be starting any trouble with other gods while the war is ongoing, but there’s no way three and a half able-bodied Stormwings –”
“Who are you calling a half?!” Serje howls, correctly identifying the target of that particular insult.
“– are going to make the whole long flight home without the Ley without someone starting something with us,” Rikash concludes, ignoring him.
Why would someone start something? Skysong asks.
“Stormwings are not exactly popular,” Zusha says dryly. “Besides, we’d be trespassing, and gods get really touchy about it when it’s another immortal rather than a fellow god. Without at least one member of the group having a god-mark to act as a passport, you don’t need to do more than just fly through to start something.”
“I have a god-mark,” the Stormwing Killer says. “My da’s.”
“Good for you,” Serje snaps. “Not exactly relevant to us, now is it?”
“No, I meant – why don’t you travel with me?”
They stare at her.
She arches her eyebrows at them. “What? If I’m in your group, then you don’t have as much trouble passing through, right?”
“Why,” Rikash says, fluffing up his feathers a bit, “in the name of all the wars that have ever been fought, do you think that we would want to travel with you? The whole point of the discussion is how to get through the Divine Realms without dying, not a request for help committing suicide.”
The Stormwing Killer looks mildly offended. “Hey, I’m not trying to kill you right now, am I?”
“We helped your fosterling, you owe us,” Zusha says dismissively. “You’re the Stormwing Killer. That’s what you do. It’s in the name.”
“The – my name is Daine!”
“I thought it was supposed to be Veralidaine,” Dubukk says.
“It’s a nickname,” Serje tells him.
“Oh, right.”
“You can just call her Stormwing Killer like the rest of us, though,” Zusha assures him.
The Stormwing Killer – Daine, apparently – crosses her arms. “Well, if you take that attitude, we’re definitely not getting anywhere.”
“What good would it do you to travel with us? Why would you want to?” Rikash asks. “Most of the time people can’t wait to get away."
Daine shrugs. "Well, for one thing, I clearly need someone who knows their way around. My da gave me a map and the badger took me as far as he could, before he needed to go back to his sett, but I was on my own for less than a day before getting into - uh, into trouble. If I'd known about things like shortcuts, that would've made things much easier."
"And you want to travel with us?"
"Given that Kitten has still not jumped off your back, I'm not sure I have much of a choice," Daine says dryly. "I'm old enough to have learned when to back off a fight I won't win. And why not you? You clearly know the lay of the land, and you haven't tried to kill me yet. Unless you're planning on waiting until I'm asleep?"
"No," Rikash says. "That wouldn't be..."
He trails off.
"Honorable?" Daine asks, looking smug.
"Well, yes."
"So why not? My god-mark, your guidance. How about it?"
Rikash glances at the other three. They look as lost as he does.
Unfortunately for him, it's not their decision to make.
And yes, that seemed like an acceptable trade - her god-mark to get them through the Realms in exchange for their knowledge of the terrain.
But...
"Why are you even here in the Divine Realms?" Rikash demands. "You’re usually in the Mortal Realms, aren’t you?”
“I got pulled through during the solstice,” Daine says, tone vague enough that it’s clear she’s hiding something. “The war in Tortall’s not going well –”
“There is no war in Tortall,” all four of the Stormwings immediately chorus.
Daine blinks, taken aback.
“Some guerrilla fighting and sabotage at most,” Rikash clarifies. “We’re Stormwings; we always know where there’s a battle.”
Daine frowns. “The fleet off Port Legann –”
“The invading fleet was scattered by an early storm,” Zusha says gloomily. “No battle. There’s some nice infighting going on up in Scanra, but that’s within their borders.”
“Sarain’s got some good stuff,” Dubukk offers. “But then, they always do. Nice people there.”
“What about the blockade? The starvation –”
“Starvation’s not war,” Serje sniffs. “Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs, and don’t try to tell a Stormwing where there’s war.”
Daine shakes her head. "Well, that sure is a useful skill," she remarks. "I've been trying to puzzle out what’s going on through dreams and water-visions. How about Carthak, any war there? Rebellion?"
"Down in the southern provinces," Rikash says. "And the potential for more if the rebels in the capital ever get their act together - but we've been waiting for that for years already."
"No kidding," Daine says, sounding disgusted. "We thought after we took down Ozorne there'd be change, but nope, no luck, instant coup by the military and now they're in charge and it's even worse -"
"Is it true that you fed him to a pack of hyenas?" Rikash asks, unable to restrain his curiosity. In some ways he’s as bad as a dragon, he realizes that, but she seems to be willing enough to talk about it; he’s not passing up the opportunity. "In the middle of peace talks?"
"Well, to be perfectly fair, he'd already betrayed the peace talks himself – and I didn’t feed him to anyone, the hyenas went and ate him all on their own initiative – "
We're here to help try to stop the war, Skysong interrupts with a shrill cheep, rolling her eyes at Daine. Not any specific human war, the bigger one. Carthak and Scanra and all that, they're bad enough, but there's a bunch of immortals helping them, and we think they're working with Chaos.
"Kitten!" Daine squawks.
"What, working with Uusoae?" Zusha asks, beating her wings. "Why would anyone work with Uusoae? That's a terrible decision! She wants to eat everything!"
"Uh, yes," Daine says, looking surprised. "I mean, we think it’s a terrible idea. Humans, I mean. And the Great Gods do, too. That's why I'm here - they want to find whoever is working with Uusoae, and I want to stop the immortal leaders working against Tortall, so it made sense for me to come here, and, well -"
"Oh, so you're here to assassinate them," Dubukk says. "That makes sense."
"It's not that!"
"Isn't it?" Serje asks.
Daine considers it. "...yeah, a bit," she says, looking mildly disturbed. "I guess I hadn't really thought about it that way, but I'm here to kill a list of specific immortals, so I guess it is that. Is that a problem?"
"I mean, not really?" Rikash says. "Seems reasonable enough."
"It - does?"
"Did you really expect Stormwings to balk at a little assassination?" Zusha asks. "Somehow I doubt it. You can do what you like."
"We should help," Dubukk says.
"Dubukk!" Rikash exclaims. "We might travel with her, but we're certainly not helping her."
"Why not?" he asks. "If one of them's working with Uusoae, it's in all our best interests to keep them from doing that. It never ends well."
Zusha and Serje look at Rikash, who - really doesn't have a good answer to that.
"Well," he says. "I mean. I guess?"
"Wait," Daine says. "You'd really be willing to help me out in stopping Chaos?"
"Well, our eyries are on the borders," Rikash says hastily, not wanting to appear weak. "We'd be the first ones eaten. Our own self-interest, really. Stormwings are great believers in preemptive strikes."
I told you they were nice! Skysong cheeps happily.
"You said no such thing, Kitten."
Well, they are. They'll even help! And Stormwings are good at killing.
"We're scavengers, not killers," Rikash corrects. "But Dubukk's right. Sometimes something needs killing, and anyone helping Uusoae's on that list."
"Rabid," Zusha agrees.
"I guess we're helping, then," Rikash says. He's not sure how they got to this point.
"I don't know about this," Serje objects, his feathers all raised in alarm. "She's the Stormwing Killer, remember? One of the immortals she's after, maybe more, is almost certainly a Stormwing."
Rikash looks at Daine. "Well?"
"I mean," she says. "Yes. Just one - a Queen named Jachull -"
Serje's feathers click back into place audibly as he relaxes. "Oh, well, her. That’s not so bad. No one likes her."
"Queen Barzha says that she's an empty void where a Stormwing ought to be," Rikash agrees.
"I met her once," Zusha puts in. "It's true."
"Can we help kill her in specific?" Dubukk asks. "I heard she eats her own young."
Daine is smiling.
It's - a surprisingly good look on her. The lines of stress fade, revealing the humor at the corners of her mouth and in the crinkle of her blue-grey eyes, framed by long dark lashes that set them off well; the aggressive set of her shoulders eases into a soft curve to a slender neck and a stubborn chin. She stands steady and centered, not easily moved; her callused hands curl almost like claws even after she puts away the bow.
She's almost Stormwing-like, really, once the stress of humanity has melted away.
...that was a strange thought.
Rikash has no idea where it came from, and he dismisses it right away. If they're going to make it back home with the Stormwing Killer in their party, he's going to need to be on his sharpest wingturns the whole time, not thinking stupid thoughts.
Especially since it’s pretty obvious that Daine is hiding something from them.